


Where No Shadows Fall

by saavik13



Series: Shadows Reach [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adoption, Character Death, Dark, F/M, Original Character(s), Time Travel, War, alternative universe, mentions of AD/GG, mentions of HG/RW, mentions of HG/SS, mentions of HP/DM
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-22
Updated: 2013-12-30
Packaged: 2018-01-02 07:25:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 28
Words: 84,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1054082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saavik13/pseuds/saavik13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“If I do this, you won’t have done anything, Harry. You won’t exist. You’ll probably never exist.”  Hermione coughed roughly, the damp irritating her lungs. “None of this will have happened.”</p><p>Hermione has lost everyone and everything in the war. Left with only one terrible choice, she honors Harry's sacrifice and goes back to change history - back to when it started, back to Hogwarts, and back to the dark days of the first Order.  With no friends or allies, she finds herself at the mercy of a very different Albus Dumbledore and must carry out her mission in the face of another great wizarding war.  Can she manage to fight her own demons and offer life to another? ca1926</p><p>Goes AU somewhere in the middle of Book 6.  It will be obvious as the story develops.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, you read that right. Hermione/Albus. I know Albus is not exactly on the het side of the Kinsey scale, but who says exactly where the poor guy falls? JKR not withstanding. I am after all borrowing her entire word, so I can have fun with a character's orientation. (Have to say, I'm normally a slash writer. This is the first time I've ever taken a character in this direction...)
> 
> Title is in homage to Babylon 5, the great 90's SciFi show. This is NOT a crossover, but the title fit so perfectly that I had to use it.

_ENIGMA by Edgar Allen Poe_

_The noblest name in Allegory's page,_  
 _The hand that traced inexorable rage;_  
 _A pleasing moralist whose page refined,_  
 _Displays the deepest knowledge of the mind;_  
 _A tender poet of a foreign tongue,_  
 _(Indited in the language that he sung.)_  
 _A bard of brilliant but unlicensed page_  
 _At once the shame and glory of our age,_  
 _The prince of harmony and stirling sense,_  
 _The ancient dramatist of eminence,_  
 _The bard that paints imagination's powers,_  
 _And him whose song revives departed hours,_  
 _Once more an ancient tragic bard recall,_  
 _In boldness of design surpassing all._  
 _These names when rightly read, a name [[make]] known_  
 _Which gathers all their glories in its own._

* * *

 

# Prologue:

If there was one thing that Hermione hated most about her life it was being cold.  The damp and the chill never left her anymore.  Sleeping in the dirt, eating scraps, wearing rags, those things she could deal with, but being cold wasn’t something she could get used to. The colder it got the more she ached - too many rounds of crucio, too many nameless injuries, and practically no medical care.  For each of her twenty-two years she’d gained a dozen wounds per annum.  She had scars and she had traumas and she _hated_ the cold.

 

It didn’t matter how much she hated it, she lived in it.  There was nowhere else to go. There hadn’t been, not for a long time.  Not since Ron died. Not since Hogwarts fell. Not since Headquarters was sacked and the Burrow burned and her parent’s murdered and Severus captured...  It was always cold now.

 

Harry huddled next to her, his breathing shallow and pained.  It wouldn’t be long now and she’d be colder.  His heat was failing and there wasn’t anything she could do about it.  The curse was working in his system, slowly rotting him from the inside.

 

Harry gripped her hand tightly and opened his eyes to try and see her.  The green was gone, the iris faded to a grayish murk. 

  
“You have to do it, Hermione.  There’s no one else that can.”  Harry said softly, gripping her hand even tighter.  “I hate to ask you.”

 

“Just like Dumbledore hated to ask Severus.”  Hermione snorted.  “Don’t lie to me, Harry. We’ve been together too long for that.  You want me to kill you and leave. You want me to do it, not because I have to or because I’m the best choice. You want me to do it so you don’t have to hurt anymore.”

 

Harry’s body shuddered and he shook his head weakly.  “Oh Hermione, I...I don’t want to keep going.  I won’t lie to you.  But if all I wanted was my death I’d have given up a long time ago.  He can’t win, Hex.  He just can’t. We’ve all fought too long and too hard.”

Hermione cringed at the pet name but kept silent.

 

Harry leaned his head back and grimaced as another wave of pain shot through his ravaged body.  “Look, we can argue this again but the facts won’t change.  Mulciber’s curse isn’t going to slow down.  One way or another I die. The only choice is whether we take advantage of my death or not.  Personally, I’d rather go into the afterlife knowing I did some good.”

 

“If I do this, you won’t have done anything, Harry. You won’t exist. You’ll probably never exist.”  Hermione coughed roughly, the damp irritating her lungs. “None of this will have happened.”

 

Harry shrugged and closed his sightless eyes.  “The way my life’s played out, I’m pretty happy about that part.  Think of it this way, you can save so many people so much pain, Hex.  Isn’t that what we all wanted in the beginning?”

 

“No. I wanted to survive.”  Hermione sighed.  “That’s all any of us wanted.  Even back at Hogwarts, when we went after the stone. All we really wanted was to survive.”

 

“And you will.”  Harry reached his hand out and groped till he found her chin and forced her head around to look at him.  “You’ve lost everything in this war, Hermione. You lost your home, your chance for a normal life. You lost Ron and Severus and now you’re losing me.  But you’ve got a chance to change it. One chance.  And all you have to do is kill me.”

 

“You say that like it’s easy.” 

 

Harry smiled grimly.  “It is. We’ve both killed plenty of times, Hex.  Two words. One flash of green.  And you’re on your way.”

 

“Assuming it doesn’t re-bound.  You have a history of that you know.”  Hermione sighed.  “And I wish you’d stop calling me that.”

 

Harry chuckled.  “Draco was right you know.  You’re so fast with your wand these days you’re a spell personified.”  Harry’s smile fell and he took an unsteady breath.  “I miss him, Hermione.  I miss all of them, but Draco....”

 

“I know.” Hermione pulled Harry closer to her and held him tightly.  “You loved him.”  
  
Harry shivered, feeling the curse progress further into his body.  “You loved Ron and he died. You loved Severus and he died.  How did you keep going?”

 

“I didn’t have a choice.” Hermione brushed a strand of untidy hair off her friend’s forehead and ran a finger down the lighting shaped scar.  “War isn’t conducive to love.”

 

Harry shuddered harder and gripped her hand tightly. “Promise me, Hermione. Promise me you’ll love him.”

 

“I can’t.” Hermione felt her tears like trails of fire down her cheeks.  “How can I promise to do that after all of this?”

 

  
“Because the only thing that can change this, the only thing that can save us, is love.”  Harry smiled tightly and opened his eyes. They’d gone from grey to a murky white and Hermione could smell rotting flesh.  “You’ve got to do it, Hermione.  You’ve got to end this.”

 

“You’re my best friend.” Hermione bit back a sob.  “I can’t do this, Harry. I just can’t.”

 

“You can.” Harry’s face was hard with determination. “You’re strong enough to do this, Hermione.  Snape believed in you till the last. He gave his life to give us time to finish researching the spell.  Mulciber’s just made it easier on you.  You don’t have to kill me in cold blood.  You can do it knowing it’s a mercy killing.”

 

“Harry....”

 

Harry smiled softly and touched her cheek, his hand cold and slimy, the flesh moving unnaturally against the bone.  “I love you, Hex.  You’re the sister I never got to have.”

 

Hermione leaned forward and placed a quick kiss to his forehead.  “I love you too, Harry.” 

 

He smiled softly and nodded once.

 

Hermione raised her wand and started chanting.  The ancient Gaelic words swirled like mist around the two and lit the darkened warren they’d crawled into with a pale mawkish light.  Harry took a deep breath as the words grew to a crescendo and sighed as the first syllabus of the last spell began.

 

“Avada....”            


	2. Signs and Portents

 Albus Percival Waldric Brian Dumbledore was many things, but he was not a fool.  He knew his place in the world, in the school, and in the universe. And his place was not playing fetch and carry for Armondo Dippet.

 

That, however, did not mean he didn’t, on occasion, find himself doing just that. In fact, more often than not, that seemed to be exactly what being deputy headmaster entailed.

 

_“Can you run to Hogsmeade and pick up the new potion master, Albus?  He’s gotten lost again and you know how those Welsh are.”_

 

_“Albus, poor Flitwick has run out of feathers for the first years. Can you run and get him some from the owlery? He’d go himself but he’s so small I fear they’d carry him off.  I know, I know, I could do it but there’s just so much paperwork.”_

 

_“The Ministry has some confidential documents they need me to sign. We can’t trust them to owls.   Be a dear and fetch them, will you Albus?”_

 

Dumbledore muttered under his breath as he stomped through the slight frost that covered the path to Hogsmeade.  The breeze picked up and he shivered, pulling his robes tighter around himself.  Today’s mission wasn’t all bad.  The headmaster wanted to reward some of the students for agreeing to help with the end of year feast planning and had asked that Dumbledore fetch a few bars of the best chocolate from town.  Normally Albus would have at least mentioned that the shop took owl orders, but a chance to visit the candy shop without students lurking about was too good an opportunity to miss.

 

Albus’ teeth started to chatter as the wind increased yet again.  The temperature was dropping alarmingly fast.  It had been unseasonable cold, even for the Scottish highlands, and it hardly appeared spring at all.  But the closer he got to Hogsmeade the colder the air became until Albus had to admit that it felt closer to January than early May. 

 

It was getting dark too.  Albus looked around and shivered at more than the temperature. The sun had gone behind a cloud and the trees were casting alarmingly unnatural shadows.  It was deathly quiet. 

 

Suddenly, there was a loud clatter, like the ringing of a thousand bells, for only a second.  The sky flared a sickly green and the wind whipped angrily, nearly knocking Albus to knees.  As suddenly as it began it ended and Albus looked around frantically for the cause. He could feel the dark magic lingering in the air, but for the life of him he couldn’t find the source.


	3. Arrivals

Hermione couldn’t stop crying. She lay in the brush of the Forbidden Forest and sobbed until she simply didn’t have the strength for another tear.  And then she cried without them.

All gone. All dead.  Every single person she knew in the wizarding world. Her parents, her cat, her friends, her lovers, all gone.  All dead.  And she’d killed the last of them. 

If she’d had anything in her stomach she’d have thrown it up. 

The taint of death magic was thick around her and Hermione could do little to shake off the artificial cold it generated. Slowly, she began to drag herself to her feet.  She wasn’t far from the path to Hogsmead.  If her calculations had been correct the spell should have landed her in the same spot she’d left from, only so very much earlier.

 She couldn’t risk being seen. Not in her tattered muggle clothing and not as much of an emotional wreak as she currently was.  If someone had been on the path they’d have felt the death magic when it deposited her here, and likely mistaken it for the dark arts.  She’d have to hide and quickly.

It was a good thing she’d perfected running and hiding.

Hermione took off through the forest, heading for the thickest growth. The forest had become a second home to her over the years.  The dark creatures that lived there provided a meager amount of protection from the Death Eaters.  She ran until the stink of the death magic was behind her and then she transformed. Her wings beat the air and she managed to get high enough to escape the tangled vines of the trees.  She fought her way clear of the canopy and circled around.

There _had_ been someone on the path.  A lone wizard had his wand drawn and was casting detection spells along the edge of the forest. If she’d stayed in place even a minute longer he’d have found her.

Hermione glided a bit lower and nearly fell from the air in shock. It was Dumbledore.  A much younger Dumbledore.

  
The spell had worked. 

Hermione sighed in relief and the breath left her in a long caw.  Dumbledore looked up quickly, but seeing only a raven returned to his search none the wiser.

It had worked.  The spell she and Severus had crafted had worked. They’d planed to go back together, but he’d...he’d taken the curse meant for her.  He’d died for her so she could do this...and Harry....

 Harry’s soul had powered the way.  The killing curse had a tiny little known side effect.  A small rift in time, a sliver of a hole.  Severus had speculated that if a powerful enough wizard was killed with the curse the tear might be large enough to slip through.  The spell they’d designed was to anchor the victim’s thoughts, control their last moments, so that when they passed their soul would anchor the rift to the proper moment in time and power the transfer. 

 It was all theory.  Severus hadn’t wanted to test it. You couldn’t, not without killing a powerful wizard.  They only had one to spare and Harry wasn’t about to volunteer for a mere test.

 But he had volunteered for the real thing.  They’d planed on sending Hermione and Severus through, to the past.  Together they’d change it, change everything.  But they didn’t get the chance.

 Hermione beat her wings and flew away from Hogwarts as fast as she could. 

 Severus had died for her so she could go on with the mission and Harry had given his life to fuel her success.  She would not fail them.

 It didn’t take long to find a muggle house with wash hung out to dry.  Hermione felt the slightest twinge of guilt as she snatched the well warn dress and stockings.  It was obvious that the family had little to spare, but she couldn’t very well walk into Diagon Alley dressed as she was.  And they’d thank her if they knew what she was about to do. 

 The dress was a little large, and a tad short on her for the time period, but it would do.  Hermione sent a spell at the pile of her old clothing and turned it to ash.  She couldn’t afford to be traced.  Her shoes weren’t quite right for the times but they’d have to do until she could find another more suitable pair. 

 For now, it was time to get down to business.  She needed to know the exact date in order to plan.  She had to find a cover story.  And a job.  If she’d landed in the time she’d planned, that would be difficult.  Women barely had the vote.  There was no way they’d allow her access to the child without some means of support, not to mention she’d need a husband or they’d never even read her application.  Hermione had always been good at history, but this was going to be a trail by fire.

 Hermione took a chance and apparated to the outskirts of London. Or what had been the outskirts in her time. It took her two more tries to land inside the city limits and by then the magical exhaustion was taking its toll.  Hermione was starving and shaking with fatigue. But there was no time to rest.  No time to morn.  There was no time at all.


	4. Priorities

Albus wasn’t one to grumble but the current situation was simply untenable. The headmaster wasn’t at all concerned about the dark magic that had nearly knocked his deputy unconscious at the very edge of the school’s wards. No, he was only worried that there wasn’t enough crepe paper for the hall decorations. While Albus was usually the first one to take up decorating, it wasn’t his most pressing concern at the moment. Really, there needed to be a better set of priorities! 

It had been a week since the incident and Albus still couldn’t shake the chill that had settled into his bones. Whatever had caused the dark magic had been powerful and desperate. The very air reeked of regret and pain and darkness. It wasn’t like anything he’d felt before and that worried him more than anything.

Dark magic was normally evil. Only one time out of a thousand was it any other way and Albus knew this was the exception. There wasn’t evil in the spell he’d felt, only a dark sobering need and the stench of death. Whatever the spell had been, it had been fueled by the darkest of magics, powered by a wizard’s soul in the throws of death. That was the only explanation for the electric buzz to the air and the preternatural chill that had settled over the spot. A soul magic spell, cast in death, but not intended for evil. Albus couldn’t fathom the circumstances that would lead to such a thing. And whoever the dead wizard was, he’d been powerful. 

Dippet may not have cared, but Albus wasn’t about to let his guard down. Something had _arrived_ with that spell. He could feel it. The dead wizard had sent something here- in desperation. Something dangerous and something that wasn’t afraid of death magic. What kind of hellish circumstance, what dire situation, would warrant a wizard sacrificing his soul to power a transportation spell? That kind of dedication to a cause was never a good thing.

Albus took up his tea cup and contemplated the brown liquid as if it held answers. For once he wished Divination had been a skill he could master. He needed to know if this had to do with Grindelwald. The war was reaching epic proportions on the continent. So far, Britain had been spared but it was only a matter of time. Refugees were arriving daily and the muggle world wasn’t helping matters. _Something_ was brewing, he could feel it. And it wasn’t good.

Albus didn’t want to think on that too hard. He wasn’t sure how much was Grindelwald’s doing and how much the muggles were responsible for. But he had a bad feeling about it. There was a darkness forming on the content and it made the Great War look paltry by comparison. And if he knew Grindelwald, which he did, the wizard was likely helping it along.

What had happened to the youth he’d known? Was there anything left of that idealistic dreamer or was the monster that had taken his place the true Grindelwald? Albus didn’t know, and frankly he wasn’t terribly interested in finding out. There were far too many memories tied up in it for him to willingly act. Besides, the Ministry didn’t want Britain involved....

Albus sighed and left his tea forgotten on the table. It was about time he started taking an interest in this war, about time he got involved. If it hadn’t been for that cursed day, he would have been helping to wreak this havoc on the world. He had a debt to pay. He’d been the one to first contemplate this sort of strategy with Gellert. He’d been the one to suggest a muggle distraction to hide their operations. He’d never dreamt of anything this evil, but it had been his idea to start with. The fact that Gellert had taken it to the extreme would mean little when the fates weighed his soul. How extreme, Albus did not yet know. But whatever it was Gellert had planned the muggle world would be devastated. Their suffering would distract the wizarding world from Grindelwald’s movements until it was too late. And then, when he’d taken over the magical world, he’d move on to the war weakened muggles. 

Albus pulled out a parchment and pen and started to write. He poured out everything he could remember of those long ago discussions. Every detail of Gellert’s personality, his goals, his ambitions. Every detail of their time together. There had to be a key in it somewhere, a hint at how to defeat him.


	5. Port in the Storm

Hermione found a newspaper and checked the date. She breathed a sigh of relief. She had time. He wasn’t born yet. There was time...

She sank slowly to the ground, clutching the newspaper. London. Pre-War London. Germany had yet to drop a bomb here. The war was still a far off thing. People were bustling about with hardly a care and Hermione didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. They had no idea what was coming.

A part of her wanted to warn them. Tell them to get ready. Tell them to FIGHT. But there were years of “appeasement” ahead of them. Years of hardship. And she could not risk her mission to try and change even a moment of it. If she did, if she abandoned her purpose, she might save them this fate only to deliver them to a worse one. No, her purpose here was clear.

This wasn’t her battle and as much as it pained her to leave the wizarding and muggle worlds to fend for themselves, knowing how many would die, she didn’t have much of a choice. If Severus were here they’d have had a chance. But one witch, alone, in a time she wasn’t familiar with, could only accomplish so much.

Hermione flinched as a few stray coins landed in front of her. She looked up to see a business man walking away. He’d thrown...he thought she was begging. Hermione looked down at her worn and ill fitting dress then touched her dirty straggly hair. She flinched. She probably did look like a beggar.

Hell, for all intents and purposes, she was one. She had no money, no identification...She was homeless, unemployed, penniless. And a single woman in an era where that left her few options.

Who in their right mind was going to give her a child?

Oh the idea had been simple to start with. She and Severus would go back in time, pose as a couple, and adopt him. They’d give him a chance at a real life. And at the first sign that it wasn’t environment that had turned him into a monster, Hermione would be ready to kill him. Severus and Harry had been sure all little Tom Riddle needed to be good was a real home and people that loved him. Hermione had been vocal that drowning the baby was the more prudent maneuver.

Severus had argued with her for weeks, trying to make her understand. If they killed him outright it would fuel more dark magic. It would transfer to another, like a virus, and multiply beyond their imaginations. They couldn’t risk killing an infant in cold blood, Severus argued. They had to find another way and their best option, as far as both wizards were concerned, was to adopt Tom Riddle and give him a loving home.

Hermione thought they were both daft but in the end had agreed to stay her hand unless it was absolutely necessary. She’d promised she wouldn’t kill the child unless, or until, he showed signs of dark magic. Of course, now that Severus and Harry were dead there was nobody to stop her. It would be simple to sneak into the orphanage and kill it. She’d checked the date. He wasn’t born yet. She had six months to wait, to plan. Then she could go in during the dead of night and end it.

But she’d promised Severus she’d try. She’d promised Harry too. They didn’t want her to kill a baby, an innocent baby. Only he wasn’t so innocent was he? Or at least he wouldn’t be...

She wasn’t cut out for time travel.

Hermione scooped up the coins. Muggle coins. Muggle street. She looked around till she saw a run down looking pub. What was the going rate for soup in 1926?

 

* * *

 

Hermione ended up with not only a cup of soup but a place for the night. The owner of the pub wasn’t a pleasant muggle and after his sixth attempt at trying to get her to bed him in return for food Hermione cursed him and altered his memory. There was a time she’d have felt at least a pang of guilt about it, but as she climbed into his warm bed, alone, she felt only satisfaction. He was fine, curled up by the fire, whimpering in his sleep. He’d wake up in a day or two and doubt his sanity but he’d get over it eventually. He’d have a nice couple days living the life of a pampered canine to look back on. An adventure really.

The wards she’d placed on the flat were low profile but strong. It had been so long since she’d had a full nights sleep...years since there hadn’t needed to be someone on watch. The fact that no one was actively looking for her, no seekers out to kill her, no Death Eaters out to torture and rape her...she hadn’t been this safe since her Hogwarts letter.

Safe and alone.

Ron had been a childhood friend. He’d made a solid lover and been a comfort during their first year on the run. His death and Draco’s defection to the Light had been a turning point. She’d thought herself so grown up until that moment when the curse hit him- his red hair flying around his head as he gasped in surprise, his body falling in slow motion to the ground. She’d come of age in that moment.

Severus, her dark one. He’d been a redemption, a life giving spot of hope in her darkest time. He’d rescued her from Lucius and patched up her wounds. He’d taught them everything he knew. And he’d screwed her into the ground until they both were too exhausted to dream. She’d loved him. She’d loved him with a desperation that only emanate danger can bring. It was savage and primal. It had burned through the cold and the pain and the fear. It had warmed her and quickened her when nothing else could.

She’d have traded her life for his. He’d beat her to it.

Hermione pulled the clean blankets up to her chin and wished for a dreamless sleep potion.


	6. Prospects

It took her nearly a week to come up with a viable cover story. She’d managed to find the pub keeper’s stash of money in an old tin and used it to buy a handful of serviceable used dresses and more appropriate shoes. She could have transfigured something but she wasn’t sure _exactly_ what the styles were and even if she’d been confident in her designs any transfiguration master worth his salt would have detected the alterations and been able to reverse them. And where she was going the transfiguration master was definitely worth far more than mere salt.

Few things in pre-war London were familiar, but Hermione recognized the Leaky Caldron immediately; it’s battered sign hanging over the thick door a welcome sight. She clutched her tattered second hand bag to her chest and checked the spell one more time. If she was going to pull this off she needed an accent - and a very specific one at that. The spell was holding and since it tapped into her personal protective magic it would be indictable unless you knew to look for it specifically. Hermione sent a prayer to whoever might be listening that her acting was good enough no one would think to check for something so odd as an accent spell – especially one that shouldn’t exist yet.

The handle to the wizarding pub was cold against her palm. The door moved on its hinges far easier than she expected and she nearly fell through as it swung open. Inside it was the same dark and smoky interior but for the first time there was no Tom to great her. The patrons didn’t look up at her entrance and Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. Now she just had to convince whoever the current owner was that she was new in town and didn’t know a whit about wizarding London, or wizarding England for that matter. In all honesty, she didn’t. At least not _this_ wizarding London.

There was a red faced older woman behind the bar. Her plump form was stuffed into a dress and apron that had seen better days but her disposition looked friendly enough. Hermione cautiously approached her and tried her best to look frightened and alone. Which wasn’t difficult considering that was pretty much how she did feel.

“Excuse me, madam.” Hermione spoke softly, her English accented heavily in a good approximation of Victor Krum’s lint. “Could you tell me how to get to Diagon Alley?”

The woman stopped cleaning the glass and turned to look at her in surprise. “You mean you don’t know?”

Hermione shook her head. “I...” She looked around quickly and then back at the woman. “I am in right place, yes? You know of Diagon Alley?”

“Of course you’re in the right place. What, did you think you’d wandered into a muggle pub?”

Hermione blushed. “I saw the muggles pass here and not go in. I thought...I thought it must be a wizarding place. I do not know how to get to wizarding London. I have been trying to find it for so long.” Hermione forced out a few tears and used her sleeve to dab at her eyes. “Please, madam. I have never been here before and I do not...”

“There, lass.” The woman set the glass down and reached over the bar to pat Hermione on the shoulder. “No need to get upset. You found a witch alright and I can get you to the Alley. You had a good eye, girl. This pub is the entrance from muggle London. All you’ve got to do is go to the back. I’ll show you.”

The woman waved a young boy over . “Watch the bar for me will you Henry, dear. I need to get this wee one on her way.”

Henry nodded. “Yes mum.” He picked up the glass she’d been working on and a clean towel. 

The woman smiled at Hermione and nodded at the boy. “Me oldest son, Henry. He’s just finished his last year at Hogwarts. Doing us proud he is. First one of me family to go for his NEWTs.”

Hermione blushed and looked down. “Oh. Congratulations?”

The woman shook her head. “Do you even know what they are? Do they have them in...”

“Romania.” Hermione supplied softly. “I am from Romania. And I do not know. I did not go to the school. They do not let girls in.”

“I thought I’d heard that.” The woman frowned and looked Hermione up and down. “You’re skin and bones you are. Dinna they feed you where you’re from?”

“There has not been much to spare. The war, very bad.” Hermione swallowed thickly. “I have been on road for a very long time.”

“Henry, get us some soup then. “ The woman ordered and led Hermione over to a table in the corner. “I’ll get you into the Alley but you’re pale as ghost. You need a little warmth in you before you fall over.”

“Thank you,” Hermione stammered, “But I don’t have any money...”

“I can spare a bowl of soup, child.” The woman took the bowl from her son and placed it in front of Hermione. “Goodness, you’re a small thing. How old are you and where are your parents?”

Hermione took the spoon up gratefully. “I’m 23 madam and they have been dead for a long time.”

“Me name’s Martha.” The woman supplied. “And you donna look a day older then me youngest and he’s only startin’ his fifth year.” She shook her head. “Not had enough food I’ll wager, by the look of ye.”

Hermione blushed. “There were bad times, but I am far from starving now.” She swallowed another spoonful of soup. “My name is Hermione, Hermione Dalca.”

“Hermione? That’s not Romanian is it?”

Hermione shook her head. “Mama was from here. I come to look for her brother.” Hermione sighed heavily and frowned. “I find his tombstone. There is no one left.”

Martha cringed. “All this way...why didn’t you owl?”

Hermione faked confusion. “Owl? No one can afford an owl anymore. Grindwald taxes them.”

The woman’s face paled. “Oh. I didn’t know. We hear rumors of what’s going on over there, on the continent. I heard it was worse where you’re from. He gained power there first didn’t he?”

“He was elected in Ukraine first. Now he is everywhere.” Hermione stirred her soup slowly. “Papa was arrested during first wave. Mama tried to pay the guards to get him out and they arrest her too. They did not survive the winter.”

“So you came here, looking for what’s left of your family?”

Hermione nodded. “I promised mama. But I have never been and it was too far to apparate blindly. I had to work to earn money for the fare. It took a very long time.”

The woman reached out to pat her hand and drew back, seeing the two small gold bands for the first time. “Oh, where’s your husband?”

Hermione flinched. She’d never married Ron or Severus, they’d never had the time - being on the run. After Severus had died, she’d transfigured the small rings out of wisps of hair she’d saved from them both. She’d wanted to keep them close. She’d gotten so used to wearing them she’d forgotten to take them off. 

She cleared her throat. “The war is very bad, Martha. Very bad.”

The implication finally sank in and Martha’s hand went to her mouth in shock. “You mean he’s dead too?”

Hermione fingered the two rings. “I loved two good men and He took them both.” She stared off into space for a moment. “Grindewald does not allow for differences in opinion.”

“No wonder you came all the way to England.” Martha shook her head. “We’ve had a good number of refugees through here in the last few months. You aren’t the first widow I’ve fed, but _twice_...”

Hermione smiled grimly. “After mama and papa died, I joined with others that opposed Him. We were a small group. Our men...risked much and paid a very high price.”

“You too from the sound of it.” Martha muttered. “Eat your soup, child. I’ll take you into town when you’re through. What are you looking for, may I ask?”

Hermione shivered. “I need job and a safe place to sleep.” She frowned. “I took in washing at home, but here...I do not know what there is for a witch here.”

Martha looked grave. “Not much, I’m afraid. Times are hard all over and money’s tight. There’s not many hiring, at least not for anything respectable. And what work there is, they’ll want to see your OWLS, if not your NEWTS. Even most shops nowadays want OWLS, even for the seamstresses. Don’t know _why_. I’ve gotten along just fine and I never sat for those tests, but with so many looking for work they can afford to be picky, I suppose.”

Hermione frowned. “How does one take an owl?”

“OWL dear, it stands for Ordinary Wizarding Levels. You take them at Hogwarts...” the woman trailed off. “Now that’s an idea! My sister Abby’s married to the grounds keeper. She was just telling me the other day that they let a couple o’ the refugees take the tests so they could get work. I bet we could talk the Headmaster into letting you sit them.” Martha frowned suddenly, “Oh, but they only hold them once a year at the end of the term. School just let out yesterday. It’ll be a whole year before they do them again.”

Hermione grimaced. She’d assumed that Hogwarts had always followed the same schedule. She’d expected that her early May arrival would secure her a seat at the June testing. She’d forgotten that the term was shorter prior to the war. “I wait a year?” Hermione looked down and shook her head. “That is a long time. And I do not know if I can pass this test. I have only had my mama’s training.” She looked back up, faking hope. “Do they want to know about cleaning spells? I am very good at those.”

“Not exactly. I’m afraid there’s more to it than that.” Martha took a deep breath. “Why don’t you eat your soup and I’ll flow Abby. I want to ask her a few things before I get your hopes up.”

Hermione watched Martha as the plump witch made her way to the fireplace and threw in a handful of powder. She was too far away to hear the conversation but it was clear even from across the room that Abby had gone to fetch someone. Martha rung her hands as she waited in front of the connection, throwing nervous looks in Hermione’s direction along with somewhat forced smiles. A male figure appeared next to the plump face of the innkeeper’s sister and Hermione stifled her surprise at seeing the living vestige of Armando Dippet in the flames.

Whatever was said, it calmed Martha considerably and by the time the connection was cut Hermione had finished her soup and Martha was beaming.

“It’s all settled then. The Headmaster’s willing to take you on at the school, child. He’ll let you sit in on classes if you’ll agree to help out me sister. She’s in a family way and she can’t keep up on her work in the greenhouses.”

“Your sister is a teacher?”

“No, heavens no!” Martha laughed. “Abby just does the pruning and watering and whatnot for the vegetable gardens and does a little here and there with the herbs. There’s too much for just the herbology professor to manage, what with the gardens supplying all the food for the school. Honestly, they could use another set of hands even when Abby’s not indisposed. But seeing as this is her fifth in six years that’s sort of all the time.”

“I will have a job?” Hermione perked up at the possibility. Working at Hogwarts would solve several of her problems. “And I can take test at the end of year?”

“The Headmaster says he’ll even wave the fee. Now, you won’t be making more then pocket change, mind you. Mostly you’re working for room and board. But you’ll have a warm place to sleep and enough food to put some meat on your bones.”

“That is alright.” Hermione smiled in true gratitude. “I do not like being cold.”

Martha laughed. “Who does, child? Who does.”


	7. First Meetings

Hermione stayed at the Leaky Cauldron long enough to help Martha with the lunch dishes as repayment for the soup, even though Martha insisted it wasn’t necessary. It had been a long time since Hermione had been able to move so openly and just being able to talk to another witch about something as _normal_ as dirty dishes was a gift after all her years on the run from the Death Eaters.

Hermione flooed from the Leaky Cauldron to the Headmaster’s office early in the evening. She wasn’t sure what to expect as she stepped out of the flames, but the sight of a nearly empty headmaster’s suite wasn’t it. Memories of Dumbledore’s plethora of magical gadgets always came to mind when she thought of the round office at the top of the stairs. Dippet evidently liked a more spartan atmosphere.

The same desk was there but there were only a small stack or two of papers. The bookshelves were all tidy but only half full. The chairs were simple straight backed things, the upholstery an unassuming brown. In all, that pretty much summed up the place - unassuming and _brown_. Hermione instantly realized that it was highly unlikely that she was going to like the current headmaster of Hogwarts. A part of her wanted to turn right around and go back to Martha.

She stood in front of the fireplace, clutching her bag to her chest, for several minutes before the man in question came out from behind a curtain. He jumped at the sight of her and dropped an armful of scrolls, his hat sliding off his bald head to land on his foot.

“Oh my!” Dippet bent over to pick up his hat, fumbling it around for several moments before it finally sat properly. “Yes?” He asked in a shaky voice. “What can I do for you, young lady?”

It took all of Hermione’s acting ability to maintain the scared refugee act in the face of the bumbling wizard. “I come for job?” She said softly, lowering her eyes more to keep from laughing than to fain humility. “Martha say you let me stay if I work, yes?”

She heard Dippet scrambling to pick up his scrolls. “Oh...oh yes. I do remember something about that. Mrs. Sprout came to me about it around lunch time.” Hermione looked up and found the headmaster frowning slightly, his arms full of the scrolls. “Mrs. Sprout works for Professor Beery in the herbology and food gardens. Do you know anything about plants, miss?”

“My name is Hermione Dalca, sir.” Hermione stepped forward slightly. “I know how to garden and take care of garden. My mother had beautiful garden, before war.”

“War?” Dippet set the scrolls down on his desk, his hat sliding forward till it hit his nose. He shoved it back up with a practiced movement. “Yes, I’d heard there was a war. We’ve had a couple wizards by to take their OWLS saying something about it.”

Hermione blinked. “You do not know of the war?”

Dippet waved her off. “Yes, yes. There’s always one war or another. This is a school. We don’t really concern ourselves much with the present here.”

“Oh.” Hermione bit her lip. “But I can work for room and food? Go to school a little?” She let some of her excitement at the prospect of being back in a classroom show on her face. “I have never been to school.”

The headmaster turned to look at her, a frown crinkling his brow. “Never? Where did Martha say you were from?”

“Romania. I am from Romania.” Hermione set her bag down at her feet. “Please, sir. I work hard. I want to learn.”

“You’re older than most of our students. I can’t very well sort you.” Dippet rubbed his chin. “But you are working for Herbert so I suppose we can give you a room in the faculty wing. You won’t really be a student after all.” He nodded to himself. “That will do fine.” He started to go around the desk, running into the edge in the process. “Darn thing. I keep doing that.” He muttered under his breath as he made his way over to the bookcase and picked up a small hand mirror that was sitting on one of the shelves. “Albus, my boy.” He said into the mirror. “I could use you.”

Hermione jumped as the irate voice of Albus Dumbledore answered back. “It’s my break, Armando. Can’t this wait? I’ve got two articles that I need to finish for Monday’s deadline or the journal won’t accept them.”

“It’s Friday, Albus. They can wait.” Dippet replied in a jovial tone. “I need you to do me a favor.”

“Another one?” Albus muttered darkly through the mirror. “Give me a moment. I’ll be there presently.”

Dippet smiled and put the mirror down. “My deputy will show you around, make sure you’re settled. Albus is a good sort. In the morning he’ll take you out to meet Professor Beery and Mrs. Sprout.”

“Thank you.” Hermione said quietly. “Thank you very much.”

Dippet smiled at her again before going back to his scrolls, humming to himself. He ignored her for the rest of the time it took Dumbledore to make the climb to the office. 

Albus Dumbledore was far younger than Hermione had been expecting. There wasn’t a hint of grey in his hair and for the first time the twinkle in his eye was outmatched by the energy in his frame. He was positively bouncy as he moved and Hermione couldn’t help but stare. For the first time she wondered if his duel with  
Grindelwald had more to do with physicality than magical prowess alone. But for all his increased vigor, there was none of the joy or precociousness she’d always considered his hallmark. This younger wizard was harsher, and his expression was one of irritation rather than good humor. 

“What did you need, Armando?” Albus asked, only throwing Hermione a cursory glance.

“Albus!” Dippet frowned. “Did I call you?”

“No. I just decided to drop by for tea.” Albus glared, reminding her of Severus.

“Oh, that does sound nice. Do you want me to order some from the kitchen?”

Hermione snorted and Albus turned to look at her. “Armando, I was being sarcastic. Is that girl the reason you called me up here?”

“What girl?” 

Albus pointed at her and shook his head. “That girl. The one in the worn dress trying not to laugh at you.”

Dippet looked up from his paperwork too quickly and his hat flipped backward off his head. “Oh...yes, that girl.” He frowned as he slammed his hat back onto his head. “What did you need again?”

Hermione took a deep breath and forced herself not to roll her eyes. “You hire me for greenhouses.” Hermione looked at Albus and gave a small smile. “I will take classes when there is time. I want to take the OWLS so I can get respectable job.”

Albus looked her up and down. “Eastern Europe.” He guessed and at her nod he sighed. “Have you had any formal schooling?”

“No.” Hermione bit her lip. “But mama teach me. She was English witch. She knew _everything_.”

Albus smiled, a hint of his familiar twinkle appearing for the first time. “I’m sure it seemed that way.” He bent down to pick up her bag. “May I? I can take you to your rooms.”

“Thank you.” Hermione smiled. “I cannot thank you enough for this.” She unconsciously rubbed her wedding bands. “I had no where to go when I find mama’s brother is dead.”

Albus froze, his eyes trained on her rings. “You are widowed?” His eyes widened. “Twice?”

“What?” Dippet called from under his desk where he was searching for a dropped quill. “Did you need something, Albus?”

“No.” Albus called back, “No, we were just leaving.”

“Come again soon!” Dippet popped up smiling, his hat falling off again.

Albus rolled his eyes and motioned for Hermione to follow him. “Come on. We’d best talk elsewhere. That fool doesn’t need us distracting him or his head might fall off next.”

Hermione followed him down the staircase and into a nearly empty entry hall. “The student’s went home last week.” Albus explained. “At the moment there’s only a handful of faculty still in residence. The Headmaster, who you just met, myself, Professor Beery, who you’ll be working with, Mr. Sprout the groundskeeper and his wife and their children, and the caretaker Mr. Bones.”

Hermione looked around with wide eyes. It had been so long since she’d last walked the halls that she didn’t need to fake her awe. In the years since they’d run for their lives from the castle she’d forgotten how many portraits hung on the walls or the way the torches flickered over the stone staircases.

Albus lead her down a long hallway she wasn’t familiar with. “Most of the faculty have rooms down this hall, except for the Heads of House. We have quarters closer to our student’s dormitories.” Albus frowned back at her. “Do you know about Houses?”

“Oh yes.” Hermione nodded. “My mother gave me ‘Hogwarts a History’. It was my favorite book when I was little.”

“Really?” Albus blinked at her. “It’s a rather dry read.”

Hermione shrugged. “I read _everything_.”

“I’ll have to show you the library than.” Albus chuckled. “You’ll love it.”

Hermione couldn’t stop her eyes from tearing up at the thought. “A whole library? I dreamed of the Hogwarts library.” She closed her eyes and sighed. “Books upon books upon books.”

Albus was eyeing her carefully when she opened her eyes. “Bibliophile I take it? Well, you are certainly in the right place. It was one of the reasons I wanted this job myself. Best wizarding library in England.” He stopped in front of a plain oak door and waved his wand in front of it. The edges glowed purple for a moment as he unwarded it. “This will be your room for now. Once you get use to the castle let me know if there’s another place you’d like to stay. There are actually quarters spread out in most of the castle for people who like more privacy. It’s always up to the faculty member where they want to stay.”

“I am not faculty, but thank you.” Hermione answered truthfully as she stepped into the room, Albus following her. “Oh, it is so large!” The room was enormous and entirely empty.

Albus couldn’t help but smile. “Just give it a moment. The castle will take stock of you and adjust.” Hermione felt a slight tingle and the air grew still. Suddenly, the walls started to shift and Hermione fell backwards into Albus as furniture sprang into existence. “See?” He smiled as he steadied her. “Oh, I do like your taste.”

Hermione looked around in shock. The room was suddenly much smaller and filled nearly to the brim with strange objects, books, and what looked suspiciously like a Turkish pillow corner. The bed was a large four-poster just like the one she’d had as a child except the curtains were a darker shade of red and trimmed in silver.

Albus went over to a table and examined the spinning orb on it with interest. “How fascinating! The castle pulls objects from the lost and found to fill quarters for quests when they don’t have their own furnishings.” He looked at her, his eyes showing a hint of suspicion. “But whatever do you need a spell-vectometer for?”

“I believe in always being prepared.” Hermione raised an eyebrow. “I did not live this long by accident.”

Albus eyed the whirling instruments around the room with a more critical eye. “I know aurors with less dark detectors in their offices. Exactly how involved with the war have you been?”

Hermione moved further into the room and gently tapped one of the gadgets making it spin. “More than I would have liked but in the end I lost everyone that mattered and there was nothing left to fight for, and nothing left to fight with.” She turned back around and let some of her weariness show. “Perhaps, when I am used to not running you will visit and see books instead, yes?”

Albus frowned. “I am so sorry for all you’ve been through. Gellert…” he trailed off, a pained expression forcing his features into a grimace. 

With a jolt Hermione realized that the Dumbledore before her had yet to face his guilt over Grindelwald – he was still the troubled man that had once plotted for power and now suffered the knowledge that he had directly contributed to the pain of so many others. It was no wonder he reminded her of Severus; Albus Dumbledore had understood all to well what his potion master had felt that long ago day when he’d wept his repentance out, because Albus Dumbledore had once been that wizard.

Hermione’s feet carried her towards the man without thought and she gently laid a hand on his clothed arm. “Do not feel guilt for what others do, Prof. Dumbledore. Grindelwald fooled many and he continues to fool even the Ministry here. I think,” her voice broke and it took her a moment to continue, his startlingly blue eyes staring at her in confusion, “I think that it is better you are here, with the young ones. They do not yet know darkness and you can shield them from it for a while longer. Many fight the darkness with wands – but words?” She shook her head sadly. “Words change minds and minds, not wands, will be what finally stops it.”

“You are far too young for such hard won wisdom.”

Hermione turned away, her hand going again to her rings, twisting them about her finger. “I have known death. I have taken life. And I have laid with the dying and prayed for peace to come.” She let a tear run down her cheek as she thought of Harry and his last painful moments. “I have begged for mercy and I have received none, from god or my tormentors. No, sir, I am not young. I am barely alive at all.”


	8. Testing

Albus left the new witch in her room and couldn’t help but shiver at the cold desolation her last words had left behind. 

What could one so young have faced to leave her so broken in spirit? She’d been careful in what she’d said, so much so that he could not glean much of importance from it other than that she’d lost much in the war – and clearly she’d been on the front line at some point. The castle’s choice of furnishings spoke to not only paranoia but the knowledge of rather advanced defense techniques. Despite a lack of formal schooling the girl had to be well versed in defense as well as dark arts to be able to use half the equipment that had appeared. She hadn’t seemed confused by any of it, and some of it he’d only seen in pictures. 

There was more to her than she wanted them to know, that was certain. But was it a danger to the school? He had been tempted to try a subtle legilimency on her, but if she had even a rudimentary training in occlumency she would notice the intrusion and he did not want to upset her. It was fairly obvious that she was holding herself together by a thread. Pushing her now wouldn’t do anyone any good. They would have the entire summer before students returned to find out more. And if she was a danger, well, he’d have time to figure out how to handle it without Dippet getting upset.

In the mean time, he had to finish his articles and get to work on the correspondence from the Ministry’s Unspeakable Department. They had jumped at the chance to learn more about how Gellert’s mind worked, and Albus was only too happy to give them whatever insight he could. While the Minister of Magic may be fool enough to think the war would stay only in magical Eastern Europe –and had convinced the muggle Prime Minister of the same – the Unspeakables and the aurors knew better. If Gellert was following the plan that they’d worked out in their youth, then he was lining the muggle world up for something horrendous. Considering the economic and political state of most of that part of the muggle world, Albus knew it would be all too easy to manipulate them back into another world war. With the entirety of muggle Europe at each other’s throats, the wizarding world would go even further to ground and would look for a new, stronger, leader to protect them from the incomprehensible devastation of the muggle war machine. 

There was a small group already organizing to provide a first line of defense against such a plan. Albus had pledged himself to them. Under the lead of one of the more successful aurors- one Alaster Moody – plans were starting to come together. When Gellert made his move towards Britain he would find she was not totally unprepared.

* * *

In the morning, Albus went to Hermione’s room and escorted her to breakfast. Since there were so few in the castle they were eating in the kitchens. He gave her a short tour on the way and she smiled at all the right places and didn’t seem disturbed in the slightest by the ghosts or the portraits, which told him that she was familiar with older wizarding homes. Interestingly, she did seem to dislike the house-elves, or more specifically- disliked being served by them. At first Albus thought she might be prejudiced against them, but when she insisted on helping them to clear the morning dishes, he realized she sympathized with the creatures. Dippet and the others chuckled at the dismayed expressions on the elves’ faces as the witch fought for a place at the sink and immediately set to work scrubbing pans. 

She wasn’t expected to start work in the greenhouses till Monday, so she would have the weekend to settle in. Albus waited for her until she’d done as much work as she could without the elves bursting into tears.

“Would you like the full tour now?” He asked, chuckling as several of the elves practically pushed them out of the kitchen.

Hermione frowned back at the portrait as it shut. “I wish they would not take my help so badly.” She sighed heavily. “They should not be treated like slaves and taken advantage of.”

“House-elves?” Albus couldn’t help his incredulous tone. “They _like_ serving wizards.”

“I know.” Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose. “But service does not have to mean _ownership_. They should be free to find any house they wish to serve and they should be respected for their work, and laws in place to stop them from being mistreated. I do not care for any creature forced to live as they do.”

They walked some ways through the dungeon before Albus had words to respond. “I think…” he struggled for a moment. “I think it’s easy to forget they are there most of the time. They work in spaces between, where we do not normally look. It used to be that older families highly valued their elves. It’s only been the last few generations that seem to have forgotten the duality of the relationship. I remember when I was a boy, my grandmother would set out a dish of sweet milk every evening for her elf and they would often sit and talk when the weather was cold. When grandmother died, Althea – her elf- was inconsolable. They had been far more than master and servant.”

“What happened to Althea?”

Albus grimaced. “She came to live with us for a time. It…it was not a good house for an elf – not then. She, she had a horrible accident.” Albus drew a shaky breath. “I buried her on top of my grandmother’s plot. I hope…I hope that she would have wanted that.”

Hermione smiled gently. “Yes, I imagine she would have, being a loyal elf.” Her smile turned lighter. “When I was a girl I used to argue tirelessly for elvish rights. I tried to get more of them to accept a free life, but only two ever accepted clothes.”

Albus raised an eyebrow. “You managed to get a wizarding family to let go of their elves?”

She laughed. “Well, actually, I can’t take credit for either, really. Harry tricked the dark wizard that owned the first one into freeing him and the other took the blame for a crime their master committed and rather than admit his own wrongdoing he forced clothes on her. She was devastated at first and it wasn’t till the war she finally made peace with it.” Hermione touched her rings again in what Albus had realized was an unconscious gesture. “She and Severus grew rather fond of each other.”

“Severus? Was he your husband?”

Hermione’s eyes lowered. “There was never a real ceremony, but yes – in all the ways that mattered he was.” She looked back up, no hint of shame in her expression. “My first husband was a good man but we were too innocent, too young, to really know our minds. When he died I was heartbroken, but Severus – losing him…” she trailed off, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.

Albus led her gently over to one of the window ledge seats and handed her a handkerchief before taking a seat next to her. “They both died fighting Grindelwald?”

Hermione stiffened slightly before looking down and away. “They died fighting for the Light. We never saw Grindelwald. But one dark wizard is much like another I would think. Pain and blood and death and war – does it matter who leads the charge when the effect is always the same?” 

Albus could sense there was more to that statement than met the eye, but he did not push. He took a chance and laid a hand on her arm, willing what comfort he could to her. “I pray that kind of war never reaches our shores.”

“I intend to see that it does not.” She raised her head, her expression dark and intense. “But first I must finish stupid tests and find a good job and home.” She hummphed and turned to appraise him carefully. Albus felt like a small child as she eyed him and he resisted the urge to squirm. “I work all summer in greenhouses.” She said slowly. “And I start classes when students return.” Her eyes narrowed. “How do you know what classes I will be able to take? Headmaster never asked me questions. Do I have to start with the first years?”

“Actually, that’s a good question.” Albus stroked his beard thoughtfully. “If you want, if you’re settled enough I mean, we can take some time today and I’ll run you through some of the major points on the curriculum – at least for the key subjects. I’m fairly certain I can place you adequately for potions, charms, and my own subject – transfiguration. Defense against the Dark Arts is a bit touchy for a witch – the ministry only just started allowing mixed gender instruction, but if you want to try for an OWL in that I can test you for placement there too. Really, all anyone would reasonably expect for a witch your age would be the first three.”

“What about arithmancy and runes?” Hermione asked, a hint of exasperation in her voice. “Mama taught me well and I want to get a _good_ job.”

“Your mother gave you instruction in arithmancy and ancient runes?” Albus shook his head. “Those are rather complex subjects. I doubt you’d be able to sit OWLS for either, not with simple home instruction, but if you want to try we’ll have to wait until the instructors return before the start of term. I’m not familiar enough with either to feel comfortable assessing your background knowledge.”

“That is fine. Why don’t we start on the others today?” Hermione stood up and smoothed down her dress, a look of intense determination making her look fierce. “Perhaps I can surprise you.”

Surprise him she did. He took her first to his transfiguration classroom and asked her to start by turning a quill into a pin cushion. She managed it flawlessly and without hesitation. He then asked her if she had ever managed an inanimate to animate change, and she wordless turned one of the student tables into a full sized horse. After that he got serious. Her skill with a wand was a little uncultured, but her raw power was considerable. She wasn’t the most powerful witch he’d come across, but her level of focus was astounding. He’d never seen anyone, witch or wizard, that was so in tune with their abilities. Even when she didn’t know the exact movement or incantation, her will and focus forced the magic to obey.

Typically a wizard only used a fraction of their raw power to work spells, never tapping into the full range of their abilities. He could feel her channeling her magic expertly as she managed the more complex full room transfigurations that he usually didn’t cover until seventh year. She was drawing ambient magics from the very castle itself to keep from overtaxing her reserves and she was clearly using near her entire ability to focus the spells.

If more wizards could do as she was, truly use their power, magic would know no bounds, he thought. 

Her attention to detail on her transfigurations was nearly flawless, even if her wand movements and incantations were less developed then he’d have liked – more untutored and instinctive than taught. If he hadn’t known they were in a classroom he truly would have believed they were inside a circus tent by the time she was done. The walls had been transformed into red canvas and the classroom tables into an assortment of exotic animals. She even managed to transfigure the air to carry the smell of roasted peanuts and sawdust.

“That is amazing!” he breathed out, moving in a slow circle to take in her efforts. “Miss Dalca, I have to say, you will not need worry about your OWL in this subject.” She looked nervous when he turned around to face her and he smiled brightly. “I think we can safely schedule you for at least one NEWT.”

“Really?” She drew herself up taller and seemed to swell with pride. “I knew I would be alright for OWLs, but I did not know if I could do well enough for next test. Mama left school before she took them.”

“Honestly, if I end up needing someone to watch my classes, I may tap you.” Albus admitted. “I haven’t seen this kind of work in years. Your mother was an excellent teacher.”

Hermione’s expression darkened. “Mama only teach the theory. I learn the rest to stay alive.” She glanced around at her creation for a long moment before brandishing her wand and returning the room to normal. “When you have to hide to live, you get very good at it.”

“Ahh.” Albus felt a wave of guilt. “I hadn’t realized that you would have used transfiguration in that way. I suppose it would come in very handy to disguise a location.” He moved towards his office door and waved her inside before taking a seat behind his desk and pulling out a few books. “I don’t see a reason for you to sit through my class. As I said, you could probably even teach a lesson or two if I needed a substitute. But, if I’ve read you right, I think you’d like to keep learning.”

“Oh yes!” She grinned widely. “I love to learn!”

Albus chuckled. “Have you ever considered becoming an animagus? It takes quite a good knowledge of your inner power levels, and I could sense that you were tapping into yours quite well back there. You might find the transformation easier than you imagine.”

The witch froze at his words, her cheeks coloring. “Ah…”

Albus’ eyes widened. “Don’t tell me you already are.”

She bit her lip sheepishly. “I lived on run, remember?”

Albus sighed and put two of the books away. “I’d ask if you registered with the Ministry when you arrived, but the less I know the better. Let’s just assume you did, shall we?” He looked up to see her nod and he made a mental note to see what, if anything, the Unspeakables knew about this strangely powerful witch and if she might have some connection to the death magic he’d felt the week before.

“Can you show me?” he asked, pushing his concern temporarily back in favor of learning more about her.

She looked hesitant and Albus steeled himself for a refusal. She opened her mouth to say no, but then apparently changed her mind. She stood up slowly from her chair and moved to the center of the room. The shift was instant. Instead of a witch, a fairly small raven was suddenly standing in the middle of the floor. It let out a single loud crow before, with a pop, Hermione reappeared.

Albus nearly applauded. Instead, he crossed his arms and smiled at her. “That settles it. I’ve nothing more to teach you, young lady. At least not in this subject. I don’t think you have enough innate ability to become a Master transfigurationist, but you’ve easily passed the standard Hogwarts curriculum as well as any material that you’d need for the NEWTs. We might want to make sure you have all the theory down, but the practical test will not pose a problem. Do you want to try your hand at potions today or rest for a while before we tackle another subject?”

“I do not have equipment.” She seemed embarrassed by this. “I would show you my skill, but I could not bring much. I had to leave nearly all Severus’ things behind.”

Albus stood up from his seat and moved to the bookcase that marked the entrance to his private lab. He tapped it to undo the wards and motioned her inside. “Not a problem, my dear. You can use mine for today and if you decide to sit your OWLs, or if you do as well here as you just did for transfiguration, your NEWT, we will find you some spares.” He eyed her carefully as she moved around the lab, taking in the various apparatus. “You mentioned Severus just now. Was he a potion brewer?”

“He was like a master.” She sighed as she trailed her fingers along the edge of a silver cauldron. “He taught me all he could, before he died.”

“Then let’s not waste time on the traditional syllabus. What is the most complicated potion you know how to brew?”

Hermione shrugged. “We did not have a lab for so long…there is only so much one can do when you have to be constantly on the move.” She thought for a long moment. “I have done Polyjuice and Wolfsbane. I can brew most Class Five’s without problem. I would, if given enough time, be able to do most of the Class Six healing potions and some of the elixirs. I have never tried a Class Seven but Severus and I would discuss the theory and he thought if we ever stopped long enough and had a well equipped lab I could probably manage with guidance.”

Albus sat down heavily at his workbench. “Class fives? You’ve done class five potions – on the run?”

“Yes.” Hermione looked at him, her eyes scrunched in confusion. “This surprises you?”

“They are highly unstable. This Severus must have been as good as a Potion Master to be able to keep them from reacting during transport.”

“It was not easy.” Hermione grimaced. “We figured out a way to charm my purse…” She fumbled at her belt for a moment before pulling the item out and enlarging it. “We designed status and anti-spill wards. We were very proud of it.”

Albus moved over to look at the item in question. Again, the detail work on the spellmanship was near flawless. “I’m starting to think you don’t need to sit in anyone’s class – not if this charm work is anything to go by.” He shook his head helplessly. “Why don’t you pick one of the Class Sevens from that book of test potions from the Master’s Guild that’s on that shelf over there. I’ll keep an eye on you so you don’t blow us both up. I want to see how far you can get without instruction. If you’ve already done Class Fives, and under these kinds of conditions, anything less then Seven would be too simple to really get any idea for your skill.”

Hermione nodded and retrieved the book. She chose one of the faster healing potions and Albus helped her to locate all the necessary ingredients. He watched as she prepared them and could see that she had indeed trained under a master. If he hadn’t known every Potion Master in Europe he would have bet good money that her late husband had been a true Guild Master. While her transfiguration work had been excellent, her potion work was beyond compare. For the next four hours he watched her work, a small frown of concentration making her forehead wrinkle.

She took notes as she worked and Albus watched as she made a few subtle changes to the brewing instructions. To his surprise, the potion turned out the proper shade of magenta despite the alterations. 

“Why did you shred instead of mince the last part?” he asked, curious.

Hermione looked up from bottling the potion. “The bicorn horn would dissolve faster if it was shredded and the size would be more consistent. I never mince bicorn horn anymore. It just works better to shred or powder it.”

Albus carefully examined the finished product. It was a rather complex healing potion designed to reverse sever infection and repair nerve damage. It was new, and as far as he knew it had only ever been published inside the Potion Guild. There was no way an impoverished witch from Romania could have come across it before. Even a Guild Master would have had only a fifty percent chance of a successful end product on a first try – yet it matched the description from the manual perfectly. 

“With your permission I’d like to send this to the Guild for testing.” Albus eyed the vial and couldn’t help the sudden grin that over took him. “I think, my girl, that we may be able to offer you something a little better than a reference for gardening by the time you are done at Hogwarts.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow. “Sir?”

“I know a Potion Master or two with the Guild.” Albus clarified as he tied a short note to the vial and motioned for Hermione to go ahead of him as he led the way to the owlry. “I’ll clean up the lab later. I want to get this on its way.” He shut and rewarded the door before continuing. “It shouldn’t be difficult to secure you an apprentice with one of them if this tests true – which I have every reason to believe it will. Your late husband must have been a very talented brewer to have gotten you to the point of brewing Class Sevens correctly only from theory.”

Hermione smiled softly, a far off look on her face. “Severus would have been the best Potion Master in the world if things had not gone to hell.” She blinked a tear from her eye. “He would take all the credit for any of my successes and I would gladly give it to him – arrogant sod.” 

“You miss him.”

“Every moment.” Hermione agreed. “We dreamed of coming here, to England, and he wanted to petition for Guild status. He wanted a small shop somewhere for me, and he would experiment. He loved to invent.” 

They arrived at the owlry and Albus tied the vial and note onto a bird and sent it on its way. They watched it disappear and Albus sighed. “Well, lets see what we can do about making part of that come true at least.”

“Thank you.” She whispered, her voice hoarse. “Thank you, Albus Dumbledore – for everything. Severus would have loved to have known this you.”

Albus was shocked when she turned to him and nearly crushed him in an awkward hug before fleeing the owlry. He turned her words over and his confusion grew. “This you?” He asked softly to the empty owlry. “Whatever did she mean by that?”


	9. Dreams

Hermione leaned back against her door and closed her eyes, twin tracks of moister falling down her cheeks. 

She’d miscalculated. In all their planning neither she nor Severus has factored in Albus Dumbledore. That amazing, exasperating, irritating, and _miraculous_ man.

When she’d agreed to come back to Hogwarts she’d only been thinking of taking the OWLS so she could find employment; get a job filing papers at the Ministry or cleaning up after some poor sod at a little shop. Or at least that’s what she’d told herself. In truth, she’d longed for that lost innocence from before the war had truly started. She’d wanted to see the castle again as it once was –to smell the library and bask in the feeling of the ancient benevolent magic that the stones held. She’d known it would be difficult to be back. Every hallway reminded her of Harry and Ron. The dungeons made her ache for Severus. But she’d never been _with_ him at Hogwarts, so she’d thought it would be bearable. He wasn’t here to make it worse. She didn’t have to look at a younger Severus and remember what he looked like in death.

But Dumbledore…he brought it all into painful focus. He was so changed from the wizard she’d known, yet she could see in him hints of the man he would become. Time had yet to brake him down and while she knew that most people would not have recognized the pain in the jovial older wizard, she knew now, looking back, how terribly unhappy her former headmaster had been. True, he’d found a peace that this younger version had not – come to terms with himself and his role in Grindelwald’s rise. But this Dumbledore had yet to face his former friend in battle and was still working for his atonement. The Dumbledore she knew from her own past had learned that atonement was never accomplished; it could only be continually strived for. And every time she looked at him, she could see his weathered body broken on the ground beneath the tower and hear Severus’ wrenching sobs as he woke from another nightmare.

She missed his colorful robes and his pointless candies. She missed his long white beard and the little ribbons he used to keep it out of the way. She missed his meandering speeches and twinkling, knowing, eyes. 

This Dumbledore was too serious, too keen. This was a warrior Dumbledore that had yet to be battle tested -soldier on the cusp of his first deployment, a sword that had yet to be unsheathed.

He reminded her of Severus with his pain, and Harry with the weight of fate that rested on him. She saw Ron before the war and herself before Lucius. 

It was too much. She looked at him and saw all of what she’d lost and she’d said too much – been too honest. Something in her just wouldn’t let her lie to the man. Hermione knew that he suspected there was more to her tale then she’d given – and knowing Dumbledore it wouldn’t be long until that sharp mind connected her with the hints of death magic her passage had left behind. 

But he’d sent her potion to the _Guild_. 

Severus had trained her well –she knew that. But there was only so much he could do with them both on the run. He’d always said she’d make a fine Potion Master one day, if he could ever take her to the Guild and pledge her in properly. Of course, with their relationship, he’d have had to find her another Master to formally apprentice to, at least on paper, but he’d promised that he would find a way –some day. 

When they hatched the plan to come back in time, he’d known it would be nearly impossible to do so. They’d accepted the fact that Severus would have to petition the Guild for a trial examination and earn a place as a registered brewer. If he was lucky one of the Master’s would offer to take him on and he’d have to suffer through the indignation of a second apprenticeship to re-earn his title. Then, and only then, could they even make the most basic attempt at having her recognized. But it was rare even in their time for a witch to get her own Mastership when married to a Guild Master. Most just expected the witch to share her husbands triumphs – even when they were really _hers_. She’d not have minded Severus getting public credit for anything she’d worked on – not with mission they were on. He would have more than made up for it in private. 

With his death and her solo return she’d had to let go of all their plans. There wouldn’t be a little shop and certainly no experimental lab. There was no way the Guild would test _her_. Severus would have had to argue with them for a testing himself and only the fact that he could brew Class Seven’s in his sleep would have earned it for him – and likely only after years of petitioning. She’d never gotten a chance to actually brew a seven before. They required specific stable lab conditions and since fleeing Hogwarts Severus hadn’t been near a lab – much less her. They’d spent many a dull evening discussing theory. They’d practiced the techniques required on mundane ingredients in the hope that if she every got a chance to try she’d at least know the proper way to prepare everything.

It was almost a game between them. He’d quiz her on theory and she’d answer back. They’d argue about slicing this, or powdering that, and he’d explain why one was better than the other. He’d talk about things he wanted to test and she’d try and guess if it would work or not. They’d made up lists of experiments and theoretical potions and they’d _dreamed_ together.

If Dumbledore could get her an apprenticeship, a _real_ apprenticeship, she might be able to have that little shop. And maybe, just maybe, if she saved every knut and played her cards right, she could save up enough for that lab. And she could create those potions –run those tests for him. He might be gone but his work, she could make his work _live_. For him.

And it would all be thanks to Albus Dumbledore.

Now, if only she could figure out how to accomplish her actual reason for coming back to 1926 it might make all their deaths worthwhile.


	10. Dueling Practice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I owed you a second chapter since I missed posting yesterday...

“Really Albus, I can’t believe you promised her a seat for the NEWTs.” Dippet frowned at his deputy over the top of his desk, his hat hanging precariously from his left ear. “The OWLS are free, but the school can’t possibly pay her fee for the NEWTs.”

“I’ll pay it.” Albus insisted. “Armando, you didn’t see what she can do! She’s untutored, I will concede that, but she has significant raw talent. With a little theory work I’m sure she’ll pass the Transfiguration NEWT. In fact, if she’s a good study, she may actually score high enough to earn an apprenticeship if she wanted it. She’s even better at potions. I believe that with practice she might even pass a Mastership trial – without a full apprentice term. She brewed a Class Seven perfectly on her first try yesterday. I sent her results off to the Guild and they owled me back immediately. It was not only perfect, but she managed to increase the potency by 13%. As soon as she has registered OWL and NEWTs Nicholas Flamel has offered to take her on.”

“Flamel? Isn’t he working with you on that dragon project?”

“Uses for dragon’s blood – yes. We published it last September.” Albus reminded the headmaster. “It’s made quite an impression.”

“Still don’t understand why you bothered with it.” Dippet scratched his head, knocking his hat off to land in his tea cup. He frowned down at it. “Odd thing, you having two masterys and combining potions and transfiguration. But, I suppose, now that they’ve retired the old alchemical society there’s nothing else for it if you want to dabble in that area.”

Albus sighed. “It was charms and potions, Armando. I may teach transfiguration but you keep forgetting that I have a Mastery in both _charms_ and potions. Nicholas is the one with a transfiguration title.”

“Why aren’t you teaching them then?”

Albus closed his eyes and took a deep breath, reaching for an inner calm he did not feel. “Because you needed a transfiguration professor and I’m quite good at it. Since I wanted a job here, and that was the position open, we agreed that I would take it even though it wasn’t my first area of expertise. Remember, you tested me quite extensively and found my transfiguration work more than acceptable even without the status of Master?”

“Never know it to look at you.” Dippet smiled and dried his hat off with a flourish of his wand. “Best transfigurationist on staff.”

“Flitwich is actually quite good.” Albus frowned. “And Mrs. Sprout has better form. I’m only able to out cast them based on sheer magical output. I still think you should consider letting her teach the first years for me. She’s got a way with the younger children that I haven’t and they could learn from watching her technique. I tend to rely more on my power level than prescient wand movements.”

“Nonsense. She’s just the groundskeepers wife. She’s not faculty.” Dippet sipped his tea. “Now, back to this girl. She’s only here for OWLS and to aid in the greenhouses. Don’t go getting carried away with helping her. She’s just a poor witch from a backward country.”

“She’s the brightest witch I’ve ever met.” Albus insisted. “I’m telling you, she’s got real potential, Armando. It would be criminal to leave her uneducated and it’s a sheer waste to leave her misting plants in a greenhouse! She’s the making of a Potion Master at least. I haven’t finished testing her yet, but if she stands up in charms as well as I believe she will, I’d planed to offer her a dual mastery with both Nicholas and myself. She’d make a splendid alchemist if given half a chance.”

“You can’t take on an apprentice, not with being deputy. I need you too much Albus.” Dippet sighed. “Besides, isn’t that too much for a young witch to handle? She’ll be wanting a family I’d wager.”

“She’s twice widowed.” Albus glared. “I highly doubt she’s interested in a third marriage any time soon.”

“Ah, but every witch wants children.” Dippet insisted. “Mark my words, she’ll be after all of you single wizards with a vengeance.” Dippet frowned. “I hadn’t thought of that. I should probably sit her down and warn her I won’t tolerate any loose behavior on my staff, especially towards the older students.”

Albus choked. “Loose…? Have you _looked_ at the girl? She’s not a strumpet! Have some common sense, man!”

Dippet’s eyes narrowed. “Are you taken with her already? Albus, I thought more of you than that.”

“I’m done.” Albus stood up and shook his head in defeat. “You are beyond help, Headmaster. I refuse to sit here and keep conversing in circles. I am paying for her to sit the _full_ NEWT panel come spring. And I do mean the _full_ \- transfiguration, potions, charms, herbology, magical creatures, astronomy, DADA, arithmancy, runes, history of magic – all of it if she wants it, even divination and muggle studies.”

“You haven’t’ tested her on all the subjects.” Dippet looked confused. “Why ever pay for the full panel? No one takes the full panel.”

“I did.” Albus drew himself up and raised his head high. “And I received O’s in all of them except Divination, which we both know you have to born with the ability to get. If she wants to attempt to best my scores I’ll help her as much as I can.” 

“Do you think she can? You’ve held the Ministry record for decades.”

Albus sighed. “If she’d had the same education I did, Armando, I know she could have. As it stands? I don’t know. But I see in her eyes the will to try and by Merlin I’ve never turned a willing student away and I never will.”

000

“You can’t be serious.”

“I am.” Albus insisted softly. “Hermione, it would be pointless to put you through OWLS. It’s obvious, just after testing you on potions and transfiguration – you are well beyond Ordinary Wizarding Levels. I don’t doubt that you need to study the theory, but the practical is always given more weight and I have no misgivings that over the course of the next year we can bring you up to at least E level for the NEWTs.”

“But the full panel…” Hermione paled. “I can’t manage that in a year.”

“You don’t have to. I only said that to drive home the point to Headmaster Dippet.” Albus smiled gently. “Why don’t you tell me what subjects you’d like to focus on? Did you read the NEWT materials I gave you? I know you don’t have them in Romania.”

“Yes.” Hermione looked down at the pamphlet clutched in her shaking hands. “I…I’d like to try for seven.” She looked back up, her jaw tensing with determination. “Potions, charms, transfiguration, arithmancy, defense, runes, and herbology.”

Albus nodded and pulled out a stack of materials he’d had at the ready. “I thought that might be the case. I took the liberty of assembling a general overview of the curriculum for you. I included astronomy and magical creatures just in case, but I think you’d be fine without them. You could in theory sit the OWLS for them if you like but if you can get at least an E in four or more of the NEWT levels you’d be more then employable. Frankly, Nicholas is likely to offer you an apprenticeship so long as you achieve an O in potions alone. And neither of us expect that to be a problem.”  
He handed the material over to the young woman who grabbed at the parchments, clutching them to her chest.

“I don’t know how to thank you for this.” Hermione’s eyes glistened. “Truly, sir, you have returned my dreams to me.”

“I wish I could do more.” Albus shook his head sadly. “I’d like to test you today on charms and DADA if you don’t mind. Filius Flitwick, our charms professor, is in Hogsmeade visiting an associate and he’s agreed to stop by and see how you are doing. I will defer to his authority on your placement, but I’d wager you’re well beyond sixth year.”

Hermione shrank her bundle down and tucked it into her robes. “Alright. Do you want to test me on DADA first?”

Albus’ eyes twinkled. “How are you at dueling?”

Hermione’s grin was feral. “Would you like to find out?”

 

\---

Albus laughed out loud as he dodged a fire spell. He hadn’t had this much fun dueling since he was a boy. The girl was quick on her feet and her silent spells were well aimed and powerful. She even knew a few hexes he hadn’t seen before and her curses were creative. They’d agreed to steer clear of anything truly deadly, and he was glad. He knew by the way she fired off her spells that she was comfortable with throwing curses and if the jinx she’d managed to hit him with in the first five minutes was any indication she could be merciless in a battle.

Hermione was clearly a take-no-prisoners dueler, and Albus relished in the chance to let his magic out to play, as it were. She fought viciously and with a passion – her hair wild about her, heedless of the mud on her robes and face. Her eyes flashed with spell fire as she deflected or dodged his curses with seeming ease. She lacked raw power, it was true, but she compensated with a deviousness of delivery and execution that was delightful.

Flitwick arrived on the grounds several minutes into their practice and Albus could see him clapping and laughing from the sidelines as they battled. Clearly the wizard was enjoying their display and soon the remaining faculty had congregated around him to watch. 

Albus dropped to the ground as a blaze of blue spell fire shot past and fired back with a well timed slashing hex. Hermione went down, a deep cut on her left side and Mrs. Sprout gasped. Albus stood up, an apology on his lips only to find an answering spell hit his leg. The pain from the cut caught him off guard and he never saw the binding spell till it connected. He went down in a pile of robes and rope. By the time he fought off the effects Hermione was on her feet and back into stance – the blood dripping from her side held in check by a hasty healing spell.

“I think that’s enough for today.” Beery called out. “I want my new assistant to be up for work tomorrow morning, Albus. You can get revenge next weekend.” 

The assembled crowd chuckled and Hermione blushed. Albus bowed to her, unable to hid his own grin. ‘That was magnificent!” He fairly gushed as she returned his bow.

“Yes!” Flitwick bounded over. “Yes, it was! Albus, is this the young woman you owled me about?”

“Filius, may I introduce Hermione Dalca.” Albus waved the man over and Hermione shook his hand. “I’m sorry old friend, we got a little carried away.” He turned to Hermione and frowned. “Let’s get you up to the infirmary and get that slash taken care of. I shouldn’t have used that spell. I’m sorry. You’ll want to postpone your testing with charms I aspect.”

“What?” Hermione looked confused for a moment before glancing down. “Oh, that? It’s nothing. I sealed the vessels and there’s a containment charm to keep debris and infection out. I’m fine. We may want to get that cut on your leg taken care of, however.”

Albus and Filius looked at one another then back at Hermione. “Hermione,” Albus started, then shook his head. “At least let me dress it properly. My leg wound is hardly as serious.”

Hermione started to argue but Albus put the full force of his glare behind him and insisted she allow him to treat the wound. Reluctantly she agreed, but only after casting the same field medic spell on his leg wound. He tried not to wonder where she’d learned it.

The three retired to Filius’ office and Albus carefully cleaned her wound and applied a more complicated healing charm that closed the gash. He watched her face as he worked and was shocked at her apparent non-concern. The gash was deep and would most certainly scar if not treated properly. Its location was also fairly intimate, yet she did not seem at all embarrassed by his or Filius’ presence. Of course, considering the number of previous scars he could see scattered over what was visible of her torso this was hardly her first such injury. Albus summoned a jar of healing salve to prevent this one from scaring and rubbed it into the red line left over from the healing spell. Apparently life on the run had meant a scarcity of even this simple remedy – it was well within her ability to brew – yet she clearly had gone without.

Filius was excitedly discussing their duel with Hermione and if he didn’t know the wizard so well, Albus would have thought he was only paying attention to her words. But years of working with the small man had taught Albus that the ex-dueling champion was always paying attention to more than one thing a time. Filius was taking stock of the healed injuries too, and if the tightening around his eyes meant anything, he was just as disturbed by them. There were healed curse scars from several Dark spells that were highly illegal as well as the more mundane injuries that could, theoretically, have come from a practice duel such as they’d just had. Hermione had learned to duel in far less civilized circumstances, that was obvious.

“All done.” Albus proclaimed and stood up from where he’d been kneeling next to her. Hermione smiled at him and waved her wand casually causing her dress to mend itself. She motioned for him to attend to his own leg which he did.

“Thank you, Professor.” She stretched. “I do appreciate it, but it was hardly necessary to take the time right away. I would have gotten to it this evening.”

“No reason to delay treatment, my dear.” Filius insisted. “Albus here is an enthusiastic dueler. If you’re to be with us all year, I’m sure you’ll have many chances to practice with him. I’m afraid he and I have gotten to the point where we rarely surprise one another. Having a new duelist on staff will be a delight.”

She laughed. “I’m hardly a duelist. I’m afraid I’m what you’d call a street fighter if anything.”

“Forms.” Filius waved her concern away. “I can teach anyone etiquette. But the ability to think quickly and analysis an opponent? _That_ is something you are born with and it can only be honed with practice – never created. You, my dear, were born with it and have had practice.”

Hermione’s expression darkened. “Yes, yes I have.” She took a deep steadying breath. “Well, Prof. Flitwick, you came all the way up here on your holiday to see about placing me for charms. Do you still care to put me to the test?”

“That I do, dear.” Filius bustled behind his desk and waved towards the door. “Albus, you’ve still got those articles to wrap up don’t you? It’s already past noon. Get off with you. It hardly takes two of us to quiz the poor witch on charms theory. I’m sure you have a fair idea of her defense skills.”

“In dueling.” Albus scratched absentmindedly at his healed leg. “I’d like to go over dark creatures and such later.”

“Of course.” Hermione smirked, pulling her wand and casting a corporeal patronus with a flick of her wrist. The python hissed as it circled Albus before coiling itself around its mistress. She petted it fondly. “One can never be too prepared.”

Albus and Filius exchanged another look. “No, one cannot be.” Filius agreed softly.


	11. Confessions

Hermione hadn’t had that much fun with a duel since… well, to be honest she’d never had that much fun in a duel. In her experience, duels were either grueling training exercises or a matter of life or death. 

Albus Dumbledore was certainly spry as a young man, she’d give him that. He wasn’t nearly ruthless enough, though. Unless Grindelwald was a perfect gentleman, she wasn’t sure how the man won – or would win. The verb tenses were getting a little complicated in her head. 

He’d barely clipped her. And the fuss he was making about the scratch was truly ridiculous. Prof. Flitwick had always been a bit overprotective of the female students, she remembered that, and so it didn’t surprise her that the much older half-goblin was concerned – but Dumbledore? She had to keep reminding herself that the wizard before her had yet to face _war_. He carried the weight of his sister’s death, and his early involvement with Grindelwald, but he was not yet a fighter. Likely the only dead bodies he’d seen had been his mother and sister.

That was uncharitable, Hermione reminded herself. It wasn’t fair to judge him by her standards. After all, most wizards weren’t seasoned killers.

She let the two wizards fuss over her wound rather than fight them about it. It was hardly her first slashing hex and she doubted it would be her last. It made moving her left arm a little difficult but the triage spell she’d cast would have held until she could do a better job of it. Hardly a reason to stop work for the day. 

Apparently neither wizard agreed with her on that and she had to remind herself that her standards for serious injury were probably a bit higher than they were comfortable with. Flitwick may be a champion dueler, but he’d been involved in the organized, ritualized, competitions – hardly any battle experience at all. Dumbledore, she’d already ascertained, was still practically an innocent.

She probably shouldn’t have cast her patronus. It _was_ a bit over the top, but frankly the expression on their faces was worth it. A fully formed patronus wasn’t something the average witch or wizard could do. It wasn’t hard, per say, but it wasn’t a spell one needed to know often and it did take a certain power level to maintain a corporeal version. The Order had been the first to realize that they could carry messages, and that development hadn’t happened till the middle of the first war with Voldemort. The only reason for a patronus at this point in history was to fight off a dementor or another similar dark creature or miasma. The fact that she knew the spell well enough to create a fully formed version would speak to practice.

Dumbledore eventually left her alone with Flitwick, his expression still showing disbelief and not a little awe. Hermione felt a twinge of guilt at causing such a great wizard to look at her that way, considering that he’d been one of her teachers, but she pushed that aside in favor of basking in the knowledge that at one point – no matter how odd the circumstances – the great Albus Dumbledore had been impressed by her, even if at the moment he was only Albus Dumbledore Transfiguration professor and not Albus Dumbledore greatest wizard of the age.

Flitwick coughed to gain her attention and Hermione wiggled her fingers to dissipate her patronus.

“Young lady,” Flitwick began solemnly. “I believe you are lying to that poor boy.”

Hermione’s eyebrow shut up. “Lying?”

Flitwick frowned and hopped up to take a seat on his desk, bringing them to eye level. “Yes, lying. I can smell the charm on you that’s holding that accent in place. Oh, it’s new, I’ll grant you that.” He smirked at her dismayed expression. “Designed it yourself I’d wager. I’ve been around too long missy to not recognize a bit of spell work when I see it, or hear it, as the case may be. Now, why don’t you drop the pretense and tell me why you are here?”

Hermione closed her eyes in resignation. “You won’t like what I have to say, and I’d wager you would rather remain ignorant of it, professor.”

“Let me be the judge of that.” Flitwick insisted, his voice taking on a hard edge. “I will not let you put this school in danger.”

“Hardly the plan, sir.” Hermione murmured softly. “In fact, I’m here to save the school – and everything else.” 

“All by yourself?”

Hermione looked up and let some of her pain show in her expression. “There was a change in plan. I had to come alone.”

He gestured to her hand where she was unconsciously twirling her rings. “Your husband died – your partner.”

“Yes.” Hermione shivered. “It’s complicated things.”

“You need help, that much is clear.” Flitwick murmured, taking in her clothes and her defeated posture. “You’re exhausted. I know Albus is offering to fund your NEWTs and based off your performance today I’d say he’s not wasting his money. You’ll pass with an O in defense and charms without a problem. But you can’t be here only to take a few tests or to land an apprenticeship.”

“I only came to Hogwarts so I could find a decent job. They’ll require that first.”

“Who?”

“The orphanage.” 

Flitwick’s expression changed from harsh inquisition to startlement. “Orphanage?”

Hermione weighed her options. She did need help. Despite Dumbledore’s kind patronage, and her new position as assistant in the greenhouses, she was no closer to finding a way to adopt Riddle. Without Severus she’d be hard pressed to find another way. She could try and curse or confound the muggles into giving her the child but the Ministry might detect such a thing –especially since they would know a magical child was being kidnapped. The Hogwarts scroll would show a change in guardianship for him and someone would investigate. It had to be legal, above board.

“If I explain, you have to swear on your magic that it will not leave this room. You can tell no one.” Hermione insisted darkly, letting her spell drop and her natural accent return. “Too many have died to give us this chance and I won’t have their lives wasted because I trusted the wrong person.”

“How do I know you aren’t a dark witch?” Flitwick asked, his magic snapping around him as his agitation grew.

“You don’t.” Hermione drew her wand and slashed her palm in one smooth movement. She let the blood fall onto the floor between them as she gathered her magic. “I, Hermione Granger, swear on my magic and my soul that I am here to prevent darkness from taking this castle, and this world. I have sworn to do everything in my power to protect Light and I reaffirm that oath.” Her words snapped with power and her blood flashed brightly as her magic bonded the vow to her.

“Dramatic.” Flitwick acknowledged with a raised brow. “I noticed there was no allegiance mentioned to any government or individual in that vow.”

“I am a sworn member of the Order of the Phoenix.”

Flitwick frowned. “The Order is still in its infancy. I know every member.” Realization dawned. “I know every _current_ member.”

Hermione swished her wand and a bright splash of light in the shape of a phoenix rose. “Do you swear to hold my secret?”

“I do.” He breathed quietly, the vow snapping between them as he invoked his magic.

“Then you’d best sit down for this, professor.” Hermione sighed deeply. “It is a long and rather unhappy tale.”

Several hours later a pale and drawn Flitwick poured tea for the two of them with shaking hands. “My dear…” He shook his head in resignation. “Do you understand the risks you are taking? Timelines…”

Hermione chuckled darkly. “I’m not risking a paradox if that’s your concern. When I came back, Harry’s death split reality. When I landed here, this reality, this timeline, split off from the past of the one I am from. Whatever I do here cannot affect the actual world I am from. That is the dark irony of this venture. They died to save a reality that they created – our own is doomed to utter darkness.”

“I’m not sure that is irony or just the harshest burden for one to carry.” Flitwick sighed. “My girl, you are going to need more than my help to manage this. I suggest you speak to Albus.”

“He’s doing enough already. Besides, he has his own war to fight. He needn’t worry over this one yet.” Hermione insisted softly.

“You dueled him today.” Flitwick closed his eyes in pain. “You saw how raw his talent is. Do you think he’s ready to face Grindelwald?”

“He’s got years to go before that happens.” Hermione argued. “I don’t want to ruin what years of peace he has before him. I shouldn’t say more, but I do promise that he has time to mature as duelist before he confronts Grindelwald.”

“Can you change this? Can you change the war that’s coming?”

Hermione shivered. “I wish I could. So many will die, both muggle and wizard. It will devastate the entire human race. But Grindelwald is already entrenched in his power base and his plans are already in motion. I couldn’t get to him now if I tried. Even if Dumbledore called him out, and could somehow win, things will still continue on the path he’s laid out – the groundwork for the next muggle world war is already laid. All my arithmancy calculations said as much; no matter what I do there’s no way I can stop the rise of Nazi Germany. Severus and I tried to find a way and there simply wasn’t. If we attempt to stop it, we only make matters worse.” She clenched her hands around her teacup. “The muggles have to fight this war and win it without magical interference. Grindelwald may be stirring the pot and agitating them back into war, but he’s no actual interest in the outcome. He only wants them to go at each other as harshly as possible. But the muggles will be so traumatized by what happens in this war it changes them. The atrocities that take place will so scar their collective psych it changes them as a people. The allied forces come together in ways Grindelwald had not anticipated and they develop weapons he could not imagine. It spoils his plans and forces him to act before he is ready.”

“How does Albus defeat him?”

Hermione looked up sadly. “When the muggle war is nearing the end and the allies are gaining ground, Grindelwald will make his move. Worried that the war will end sooner then he expected, Grindelwald will gather his forces for a strike against the main European wizarding defenses hoping that even if he can’t take control of the muggle world, he may at least gain power of the wizarding. At that point he only fears one wizard. He’ll want to get him out of the way to clear the path to over turning the statute of secrecy and exposing us to the muggles.”

“Albus.” Flitwick whispered. “He’ll call out Albus himself.”

“If I pull Dumbledore into this, I don’t know what it will do.” Hermione bit her lip. “I can try running a few calculations, but I’m not sure I can pin point anything that accurately. I _know_ I can’t interfere with Grindelwald and the coming muggle war. But I don’t know if involving Albus in the situation with Riddle will do that. I don’t know this Dumbledore at all. The man I knew was completely different from this younger version. The old wizard I knew would understand that some things cannot be changed and while it would break his heart to allow the war to happen as it must, he would do it. This one? I don’t think he could shoulder that burden. He’s still carrying the guilt from his sister’s death and from his perceived role in Grindelwald’s rise – however minor. I’m afraid he’d rush into action without considering the long term ramifications.”

“I’m not sure you have a choice. If you truly plan to rescue this babe, you will need to find a family that can take him in. Albus has the connections to make that possible. There is no chance the muggle and wizarding authorities will allow you to adopt him – a single witch, no papers, no history of employment? No, you need Albus.” Flitwick shook his head. “However, we can’t tell Albus what is coming in _this_ war, that is clear. We’ll have to find a way to explain that while you know certain matters of the future, you either do not have the knowledge he seeks or are unable to reveal it due to spell or oath. He already feels responsible for Gellert. If he learns what that boy is planning, and all the deaths that are coming…”

“It will break him.” Hermione agreed softly. “I am sorry to have involved you. Knowing and not being able to stop it…”

“You should not carry this burden alone, dear girl.” Flitwick reached out a hand to steady hers. “We will think of something. For now, rest assured you’ve a place with me here as my apprentice and Nicholas will gladly take you on as well. We’ll make sure you have a future in this time and this world. Somehow we’ll find a way to get Riddle out of that orphanage.”

“He’ll be born the last day of the year.” Hermione rubbed tiredly at her eyes. “I think it best if we retrieve him as quickly as possible. I’m not sure what state his mother leaves him in, but the orphanage is a dark, dreary place. Babies should be held, loved…”her voice cracked. “I promised Severus and Harry that I would raise Riddle, but…”  
“You cannot.” Flitwick agreed softly. “Knowing what you know, how could you?”

“Can’t _you_ find a family to take him?” Hermione asked hopefully.

Flitwick frowned deeply. “I’m afraid that my mixed parentage makes it difficult for me to mingle in most social circles within the wizarding community. I would suggest we find a muggle family, but if he’s as gifted magically as you suggest it would be ill advised to make him live in that world and then come into ours as an outcaste. I’m afraid muggle-borns are not always well treated.”

“Yes, I’m rather aware.” Hermione sighed. “My cover story has me with wizarding parents for a reason. I’m actually muggle-born. I didn’t think the added complication of my blood status would be helpful in the current circumstances.”

“Wise.” Flitwick agreed. “With the backstory you’ve created none of the purebloods would feel it necessary to test you for blood purity, and if they did they would not expect to have usable results anyway. Most of Romanian wizarding families are of Romani decent and they have never consented to having their lines registered with any magical authority.”

“I know. I was rather planning on that.” Hermione couldn’t stop a yawn.

“Get some rest.” Flitwick advised. “Talk to Albus in the morning. He suspects something already. You are too gifted, too knowledgeable, and he is worried for the safety of the school – I can see it in his eyes. If he goes to Dippet, you’ll find yourself removed before you can say Quidditch. He may be a bit dotty, but the Headmaster takes the security of this school very seriously and he’s not afraid to act when he feels it is necessary.”

“I think that is something all headmasters have in common."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The largest challenge in writing this story is how to deal with WWII both logically and sensitively. Hermione has gone back to stop Riddle, but she's arrived just a few months after Hitler published Mein Kamf but before he's gained significant power or allies. The story is set in 1926/1927, before the collapse of the world markets in 1929 that leads catapults the Nazi party to power. (And in the HP world, prior to GG making a play for power outside of Eastern Europe.) 
> 
> For this story to work, she can't try to change either event - but I can't see Hermione not doing something if it was within her power to do so. Doctor Who like "can't change major events" arguments don't work since she is there to change a major event. 
> 
> The best I could come up with was simply that one witch, alone, could not risk changing such major events. If she killed Hitler, perhaps someone else would have taken his place and been smarter or more strategic and it could have turned the tide towards the Axis powers. She knows that if she does nothing at least the Allies with win -at terrible cost, yes, but they will win and the horrific events of the Holocaust will shock the world into action against such prejudice and acts of genocide like never before. 
> 
> It's a terrible, horrible, nightmare of a choice for any character. I hope I've handled it in a way that does not cheapen the Holocaust or the war. This is the only time in the story that I plan to directly address the matter, since the story itself takes place so far before the start of hostilities. But it needed to be explained. I hope it meets with your approval.


	12. Proposal

Albus Dumbledore was not a fool. Because he was not a fool, he knew – beyond a doubt- that there was more to Hermione Dalca than her story let on. She was too good with a wand to be a simple girl from a magical backwater. She’d had training – advanced training. He’d been working with some of the best duelists in Britain for years, training up for the day when Gellert would make his move. It was only a matter of time until his former friend called him out. And if their intelligence was correct, Gellert had become an expert duelist over the years. His raw power was incredible and Albus knew that without careful planning and dedicated training he would die. There was no way a home taught girl of barely four and twenty could stand up to him in a duel. It wasn’t raw power; she was above average, he’d give her that, but she was not gifted with the vast magical pool of power that Albus was. Only years of intense training and practice could have possibly let her match him in duel.

And she’d been holding back – he could feel her power coiled, tightly bound behind her spells, reducing their strength and accuracy. She’d tried to make it look like she wasn’t as good as she was. She’d played down her skill – yet she’d still easily tied him, may very well have bested him if Beery hadn’t called a halt to the thing.

It wasn’t ego that was the problem. Albus was used to being bested in practice duels. Flitwick had beaten him every day when they’d first begun training; he still managed to do so on a regular basis. The little wizard was wicked fast and his accuracy was uncanny. What he lacked in power he made up for in carefully chosen spell work fired at a pace so fast it was nearly a blur. Moody had taken over a good amount of the training once it became clear Flitwick had little more teach him, and the auror was still winning a good amount of the time. So it wasn’t loosing that bothered the transfiguration professor – it was loosing to _her_.

The magical war in Eastern Europe was no laughing matter. Gellert had gained control of most of that section of the world and he ruled with an iron hand. No difference of opinion was tolerated and opposition was rounded up and imprisoned with impunity. There was an underground resistance that tried to do what they could to undermine his regime, but they took heavy causalities. It was not surprising that a young woman involved with them could have lost two husbands at such a young age. But while they were not above involving a witch, they rarely expected them to fight directly. Witches were usually used as curriers, distractions, intelligence gatherers – not duelists. Many witches in that area never even received wands since the wizarding schools would not admit them. They brewed potions, used what little raw elemental magics they could harness wandlessly for basic healing, household spells, and other mundane common tasks. Only the elite of society could afford to outfit their witches with wands and to pay for the private tutoring necessary to use them. 

Even an English witch living in that country would have found it difficult to tutor her daughter so completely. Hermione was clearly very intelligent, and Albus did not doubt her ability to learn from books, or observation. While it was clear she’d gained experience at transfiguration and charms while on the run, the base of her knowledge, the fundamentals underpinning the work he saw her preform, was Hogwarts standard. The few theory based questions he’d been able to ask her, she’d answered up to around the 6th year, going by the new curriculum. They only started teaching the new curriculum five years ago. Until then, witches didn’t take Defense, nor did they routinely enroll in arithmancy. How could her mother have gained knowledge of these courses without having taken them? And why would Hermione’s theoretical knowledge so closely mirror a curriculum that was only just introduced? Hogwarts updated course syllabi every hundred years or so. Her mother should have gone through on the old system. It just didn’t make sense.

The patronus she’d cast had been perfect. The corporeal serpent had formed instantly at her command and the way she interacted with it told him she’d spent no small amount of time getting acquainted with her creation. Patroni were semi-sentient magical emanations – capable of learning and growth. Every time one was called the creation became _more_. The serpent had looked at him with a frightening awareness behind its eyes. It was an old patronus and fiercely loyal to its mistress. 

Why would anyone need call a patronus so frequently that it would take on that level of intelligence and awareness? Albus had no doubt that had she desired it, the creature would have spoken directly to him. 

What was she hiding? 

 

Monday dawned bright and hot. Albus worked for some time in his laboratory, experimenting once again with distilling dragon’s blood into its elemental parts. He was convinced that if he could separate out the quantities, there would be far more then 12 uses for it. Nicolas wasn’t as convinced, but Albus wasn’t about to give up yet. As he worked, he tried once again to figure out what it was that young Hermione could be hiding.

By noon he was frustrated with his experiments and even more concerned about the situation with the young Romanian witch. As he set aside his work in favor of the midday meal he was surprised to find the focus of his thoughts waiting for him outside the door to his lab.

“May I speak with you?” Hermione asked softly. She held up a picnic basket. “I bring food.”

“Of course.” Albus stepped out into his classroom and re-warded the door to the lab. “Did you want to meet in my office or were you thinking of actually taking a meal outside?”

“Basket was only to carry.” She smiled gently. “But, we can if you like.”

Albus considered it, then thought better of it. Dippet was already beginning to think he was interested in the witch. It wouldn’t do to have them seen on a picnic. He motioned her towards one of the larger student tables. “Why don’t we stay inside this time? It’s rather warm outside and the castle is charmed to keep a more even temperature.”

“Greenhouses were quite warm.” She agreed and began laying out the contents of her basket. “Prof. Beery was very happy to have me start work. Mrs. Sprout has been so busy with her children some of the plants have been feeling neglected.”

“How are you finding the work?”

“Hard.” Hermione frowned down at her sandwich as she took a seat across from him. “It has been a long time since I cared for plants. I had forgotten much.”

“Seems you made up for any knowledge you lack of herbology with a large surplus of Defense.” Albus eyed her carefully and she shifted nervously. “What is it you wished to discuss?”

Hermione glanced at the classroom door. “Would you mind if I warded this room?” She asked hesitantly but firmly. “What I have to say must not go further.”

Albus pulled his wand and warded the room, casting a fairly powerful charm to block their voices. Hermione frowned when he was done and pulled her wand, adding another two layers of enchantments. 

“Are you expecting the Unspeakables to be listening in?” Albus grumbled. “You’ve cast more complicated wards than most of the rooms in the Department of Mysteries.”

“I always did think they were shockingly under protected.” Hermione’s accent was gone and in its place was a cultured British voice that made Albus sit forward in shock. She laid her wand down carefully on the table in front of her. “I’m not here to cause you harm, sir. Nor am I here to harm the school. Prof. Flitwick strongly suggested I trust you with the reason from my presence here and I am willing to do so – provided you give me assurances that you will not reveal to anyone what I am about to explain.”

“You aren’t from Romania.” Albus cast a wandless detection spell. “This is your physical appearance, you aren’t using any potions or spells to alter yourself, yet I do not recognize you. Had you been a student here I would know you. And you are clearly British – London from the sound of it.”

She smiled bitterly. “I need you to swear, professor. I need a full wand oath that you will not, even under threat of death, reveal what I am about to tell you. I cannot explain matters until I have it. I can give you the same oath I gave Flitwick,” she held up her hand and Albus raised an eyebrow at the faint scar line on her palm from a blood oath. She picked her wand back up and reopened the scar before setting it down again, as far from her as she could reach in an obvious sign of her trust. “I, Hermione Granger, do swear on my magic and my soul that I am here to fight for the Light against the Darkness. As a member of the Order of the Phoenix it is my sworn duty to defend Hogwarts and all magical people against those who threaten the Light.” Her blood dripped onto the table and hissed as the oath affirmed itself. Her flesh sealed as the magic in the words dissipated.

“The Order just formed.” Albus shook his head in confusion. “Alastor didn’t mention anyone named Hermione joining.”

“Your word, professor.” She insisted.

Albus drew his wand. “I, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, swear that I will not reveal anything I am about to hear - unless I feel it is necessary to protect this school.”

She frowned at him as his oath swirled in the air and settled. “I suppose that is an understandable addition. It leaves a lot of room for interpretation however.”

“Not magically.” Albus stated calming, returning his wand to his sleeve. “This castle and the magics here have born witness to my oath. If I act and the castle is not in danger, it will know and I will loose my magic and my life. It is a valid wand oath – if somewhat less dramatic than your blood bound one.”

“It will have to do.” She murmured darkly. “Knowing you, it doesn’t surprise me you designed a loop hole in it.”

He narrowed his eyes. “We hardly know one another.”

She smiled darkly. “Ah, that is where I have you at a disadvantage. You see, I was a student here for 6 years, professor. I spent many of my holidays and summers at the Order headquarters. We knew each other fairly well by the end.”

“I don’t understand.”

Hermione sighed and closed her eyes before continuing. “The Order that you know is not the same one of which I speak. The Order of the Phoenix as I know it was reconstituted to fight a new dark lord. The original Order, founded to defend against Grindelwald, will be disbanded when that threat is neutralized. My Order will not be called together until the 1970s. I will not join it until the last part of the century.”

Albus drew in a breath. “You are from the future!”

“Yes.” Hermione admitted softly. “A future that I am here to see never comes into being.” She looked up, her eyes heavy with regret. “I am sorry, sir, that I cannot aid you in the coming war. My mission here is very clear and any action I would take to aid you with the current situation would jeopardize everything. I would not be telling you this, except that with Severus’ death, I was forced to come to this time alone and it has meant that all our plans must now be changed. Your offer of securing me an apprenticeship will aid me greatly, but I’m afraid I need a more immediate solution.”

“And what, exactly, are you here to do?”

Hermione stood up abruptly and walked to the window, her arms tightening around herself as if seeking protection. “There will be a baby born on the last day of the year.” She said, her tone bleak as she peered out over the grounds. “His mother will be a witch from an old pureblood family and his father a muggle that she drugged with a love potion. Unable to except her as a witch, the muggle will renounce her when she reveals what she has done. Her family will refuse her aid. She will give the baby to a muggle orphanage and kill herself – all within hours of his birth.” Hermione turned back aground and leaned against the wall. “If we do nothing, that child will grow to become the darkest wizard ever known to walk the earth. If we do nothing, that child will enslave the magical world and he will begin to systematically exterminate all none-magical life on the planet.”

Albus stood up swiftly, knocking his chair over in the process. “He intends to kill all the muggles? Not just rule them, but exterminate them?”

“Every last one.” Hermione agreed softly, moving slowly back to her seat at the table. “Grindelwald may wish to rule, but Voldemort wishes to destroy. The war from which I come makes the current magical conflict seem like child’s play.” She blinked hard, fighting back tears that were gathering in the corners of her eyes. “He cannot be allowed to gain power.”

“You mean to kill him.” Albus’ voice broke. “You mean to kill this infant.”

“No.” Hermione shook her head, her fist clenching on the table. “No, gods help me, as much as I wish to, that is not why I am here. Severus and I were supposed to _adopt_ him. Or at least that was the plan. Severus and Harry were convinced that it was his bleak childhood that turned Tom Riddle into Lord Voldemort and that if he’d known loving parents he would have used his powers for good.”

“How powerful is he? Or will he be, I should say.”

Hermione gave a rye smile. “He only feared one wizard – you. Once you were dead, that only left Harry. Perhaps if we’d had more time Harry would have grown strong enough to fight him, but we were only 17 when Hogwarts fell. We spent the next few years running for our lives. Once Severus joined with us he gave us what training he could, but one by one the Order was decimated and in the end it was just four of us left. We devised this plan, only Draco and Severus were killed before we could implement it. Harry was hit with a slow acting curse that sapped his strength. His last act was to sacrifice himself to power the transportation spell that would send me here.”

“The death spell.” Albus murmured. “I felt it, near the woods. That was you arriving.”

“Yes.” Hermione let a single tear fall. “I killed Harry and used the backlash from his death to propel me here. And now that I’ve arrived, I have no way to complete my mission. The muggles will never let a single woman adopt him. If I kidnap Riddle aurors will be sent to investigate since the Hogwarts scrolls will warn them that a magical child has been taken – the same will happen if I confound them or use another form of magic to secure him.”

“This may sound crass, but why not kill him?” Albus raised a hand in apology. “I know, that’s hardly a thing most would consider, but if this Riddle goes as bad as you say, why take the chance?”

Hermione bit her lip. “That was my argument. Severus knew more about the Dark Arts than I do, and he claimed – and Harry agreed – that killing a child would cause a magical backlash that would unleash an even darker force. I don’t know, they both had horrific childhoods themselves. They may have been lying to me, hoping that this plan would work out of some kind of twisted pity for the bastard. But Severus was so admit and I trust him with my life – trusted him.” She corrected softly. “I _trusted_ him with _everything_.”

“What do you need from me?” Albus asked gently, reaching a hand across the table to take hers where it she rested it, clenched tightly.

“I need to find people that can take him – preferably an older wizarding family.” She closed her eyes tightly. “A family that will love him and give him a chance; introduce him to all the good in this world.” She opened her eyes and met his, a dark look of anger and determination etched there. “Somewhere I can keep watch – so if, _when_ he goes Dark, I can be there. Before he gets too powerful, I can be there and stop him.”

Albus frowned. “No family will take a halfblood in and treat him as one of their own – at least none of the old families. He’ll face enough prejudice considering his birth, I’d wager placing him with a muggle family would only add to his feelings of resentment once he knows the truth of his parentage. If he’s as powerful as you say, it may be dangerous to leave him in muggle hands anyway. He’ll likely show early signs of magic.”

“He learned to control it young.” She whispered. “He somehow kept it subtle – using it to torture and torment the bullies at his orphanage, keeping it just under the Ministry radar.”

 

“Oh.” Albus paled. “That…that does sound like a problem.”

“It has to be a magical family – one that knows how to handle and recognize early magic use. They have to monitor him, know what he’s capable of.”

“We can’t warn them.” Albus rubbed his chin in thought. “If we tell them, who would take him?”

“Only the Dark families. He was bad enough on his own, I hate to think what he would have been like if the Malfoy’s or the Blacks had raised him.”

“I’d wager the Lestranges and the Gaunts are out as well – the Princes too.” Dumbledore sighed. “The Potters or the Weasleys might give shelter to an orphan, but they are too traditional to accept him in as an equal. He’d be a foundling, a ward. They’d expect him to be beholden to them – not a son.”

Hermione laid her head on the table and growled in frustration. “So what do you suggest?”

Albus’ mind flew as he tried to calculate possibilities. He ran through all the families he could think of, and none seemed likely. If there had been a couple without children, a magical adoption might have been possible. But the handful he knew that meet that criteria had already made arrangements for an heir. “I don’t know,” he admitted softly. “I don’t know.” He stood up and started to pace. “Let me think…’he waved her off as he murmured to himself. 

He watched her out of the corner of his eye as she sat there, stiff and tense. She’d been through so much, this poor girl. Her tale had been brief and he could sense all that she’d left unsaid in the air. She’d watched him die, watched the school fall, buried two lovers, and killed her last companion all to stop this wizard…

And now she needed his help.

Albus’ steps faltered as one insane, brilliant, and _mad_ plan skittered across his brain. 

“What?” Hermione stood up sharply at the look on his face, crossing to him in quick strides. “I recognize that look. You’ve thought of something.”

“It’s utterly ridiculous.”

“All your plans are.” She insisted.

“You aren’t going to like it.”

“I never have.” She admitted.

“I’m not sure I like it.” Albus steeled himself.

“What is it?” She asked.

He hesitated. “…We raise him.” He said quietly. “You and I.”

“Us?” she questioned, realization dawning slowly. “You mean…”

“I know the truth about you.” Albus explained in a cautious tone. “As the eldest Dumbledore I control the family inheritance lines – I can magically adopt the boy. The general public need never know he wasn’t actually ours since the magical adoption will override his physical appearance.”

“But…” Hermione twisted her rings in agitation. “That would mean we’d have to…”

“Marry.” Albus managed to get the word out. “I know it’s not ideal – I’m twice your age…”

“I keep picturing you dead on the ground, your white beard covering your face.” She breathed out, her eyes haunted. “I held Severus as he cried, after he explained how you begged him to kill you…” She closed her eyes. “I watched your memories in our pensive – read your letters to Gellert Grindelwald…” She looked back up. “You’re _gay_.”

“What does my being happy to have to do with this?” Albus asked, confused.

Hermione clapped a hand over her mouth and tried to hide her laugher. It finally bubbled out in a near hysterical burst that quickly turned into sobs. She sank to the floor, clutching at a table leg for support. Albus sank down next to her. “What is it?”

She shook her head, her words raspy from trying to catch her breath. “Where I come from, gay means that you… you are attracted to people of your own gender.”

“Oh.” Albus blushed. “I…I told you that I…that Gellert and I…” Albus hung his head. “We never actually…he wasn’t…interested.”

“But you were.” Hermione leaned back against the table leg, fighting for composer. “We’d have to consummate the marriage for it to magically binding and I have no desire to sleep with a man that’s not at all interested in my sex.”

“Witches are very much more blunt in the future.” Albus chocked out. “And…and… well, just because I was…” cough “…interested…” cough “…in Gellert, it doesn’t…” he cleared his throat, “… it doesn’t mean I’m not interested in witches either.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow. “You mean you’re attracted to both genders? You’re bisexual?”

“Is that what they call it?” Albus rubbed tiredly at his eyes. “My father called it being a pervert and my brother called it a depravity. The family healer said it was ‘introversion’ and recommended they disown me. My mother wouldn’t hear of it, and since Aberforth had that horrible case of Dragon Pox and is sterile they didn’t have a choice but to keep me and hope that one day I’d come to my senses.”

He startled when he felt her put a comforting hand on his arm. He looked up to find her sympathetic eyes gazing into his. “I can tell you that people do become more understanding in the future – not everyone, but it does get better. Harry and Draco were my best friends and they were…together.” She explained softly. “I don’t care who you are attracted to, Professor. I wouldn’t have even mentioned it if you hadn’t just basically proposed to me.” She bit her lip. “I wouldn’t hold you to any…any promises of fidelity. You could find another man if you wanted.”

“I’ve never…” Albus blushed furiously. “I’ve never actually…with a man. Or anyone really… After Gellert, it just seemed…” he cleared his throat. “I wouldn’t expect you to preform any _duties_ as it were.” He couldn’t keep eye contact as he talked. “I was content to let the Dumbledore line die with me, so I wouldn’t expect you to… and we’d have this baby anyway.”

“I can’t have children.” Hermione confessed softly. “I’ve had too many rounds of Cruciatus. The internal damage was too severe.”

“We’d have a solid excuse for the adoption then.” Albus awkwardly patted her hand. “Aberforth will try and argue for the traditional bonding, but I can insist on the modern muggle friendly one, it doesn’t insist on the witches…well, you’d be free to find lovers.” He finished, his face nearly bursting into flame.

Hermione sighed deeply. “I’m sure I’ll appreciate that in a few years, but right now I’m less than interested in that sort of thing. I’m still mourning Severus, I suppose.” She stood up slowly and reached down to help him back up to his feet. “I’m not saying I’d _never_ want to…” she waved a hand between them suggestively. “I’m saying…well, I never intended to go there with you….”

Albus chuckled. “So, neither of us had any intentions towards the other but neither of us is necessarily opposed, in theory, to marital relations? Isn’t this the most positively frank pureblood marriage negotiation to ever take place! Father would be so proud – if he wasn’t dead.”

“About that…” Hermione blushed and looked away, picking nonexistent lint off the arm of her robe. “I’m actually…” her voice dropped down to a whisper, “muggle-born.” She looked back up hesitantly.

“Wonderful.” Albus purposefully made his tone light. “We won’t have to worry about the marriage papers erring out in the Ministry due to some falsely reported magical blood lines. If you’d been of English wizarding decent and we’d claimed you were Romanian they’d have detected the lie. If you’re muggle-born it should go through without an issue.”

Hermione laughed. “It really doesn’t matter to you? I know in my time you always argued for equality, but I knew a lot of pureblood wizards who said the same thing until their family member wanted to marry a muggle.”

“Considering we’re getting married so we can adopt a future Dark Lord and prevent him from being traumatized into evil – I would think not.” Albus smiled. “Now, my girl, how do you suppose we go about this business? I just finished assuring the Headmaster you weren’t here to trying to catch a husband.”

“He thought that?” Hermione looked scandalized.

“You would hardly be the first witch that wanted a more secure future though marriage, Hermione. And while my father’s incarceration and the scandal surrounding my mother and sister’s deaths does dent my reputation, I am still considered something of a catch – as it were. The House of Dumbledore is an old pureblood line and while we are not nearly as wealthy as we once were, my reputation in academic circles and position here compensate for it. I’ve had a fair share of problems from 6th and 7th year girls looking to make a good match.” Albus explained gently. “Perhaps I should go to him and confess that since our duel yesterday I’ve…developed an interest? See if I can gain his approval to court you.”

“He’s hardly my father.”

“True, but you are here as a dependent of the school and as such under his protection. He’s not only concerned about the single males on staff, he wanted to protect your reputation as well. I know he doesn’t look it, but Dippet is a honorable wizard and he’s somewhat old fashioned when it comes to protecting the vulnerable females on his staff.”

Hermione sighed. “I’m afraid that I’m not very well versed in wizarding courtship – especially not 1926 rules. I’ll leave that up to you.” She picked her wand up from the table and undid her wards. “I wonder if Flitwick saw this coming?”

“Likely.” Albus shook his head. “That man is far more cunning then he looks.”


	13. Ama fratrem tuum semper

Courtship, according to Albus Dumbledore, apparently consisted of sitting together at meals, taking walks, and spending time together in the Hogwarts library. At first no one seemed to notice. There were so few staff spending the summer holiday at the school there wasn’t anyone around _to_ notice – which made faking a burgeoning romance difficult. It was well known that Dumbledore had volunteered to tutor the new hire in preparation for her NEWTS, and so those that did happen upon them assumed that was what was going on. It wasn’t until a month had gone by that Mrs. Sprout seemed to realize there was more to it. The kindly woman hadn’t said anything, but Hermione could see the Hogwarts rumor mill crank into life behind her green eyes. Before long other staff, who would normally not set foot in the school until fall term, began to make random and unscheduled visits – typically to the library or the transfiguration classroom. 

After a few weeks of increased attention from the others, they started to use given names in public and made a point of being seen leaning in close to one another over parchments, walking arm in arm, and so forth. Hermione found the transition difficult. She kept thinking of Severus, and wondering what he would think of the situation. Would he have been happy that two of the people he cared about most in the world would be linked? Or would he be angry? It took effort for her to push such worries out of her mind and to concentrate on the mission. They needed people to think their marriage was natural, and not the contrivance it was. For that to work, they had to appear to be slowly working towards an understanding with one another. It wouldn’t do for her to look upset every time Albus offered his arm. In fact, they both agreed it would be best if everyone thought theirs a love match rather than a move motivated by Pureblood desires. 

Flitwick met them for lunch in Hogsmeade and they told him the plan and how by marring they could secure Tom Riddle from the orphanage. He gleefully informed them that owls had been flying back and forth between the rest of the staff as they exchanged speculation on what, exactly, had caused the renowned Bachelor of Gryffindor to finally show a romantic interest in someone . Albus had turned a lovely shade of scarlet at the small wizard’s gentle teasing and Hermione had taken his hand under the table in silent support. Flitwick did not know the entire story behind Albus’ relationship reticence and while he was one of the few who knew that Grindelwald had once called the man friend, he had no idea how deeply Albus had felt for the man. As it was, Filius was sorry to see them marry for such practical reasons, but he quietly told them he thought they would make a solid match. 

Arranged marriages were all too common in pureblood circles, and had Albus’ father not been imprisoned he’d have likely been married off to a stranger long ago. Therefor neither wizard seemed to be terribly concerned about the lack of sentimentality in the arrangement - nor did the rest of the staff seem to think there was anything odd in the somewhat dispassionate way Albus was pursuing her. In fact, according to Flitwick, the majority seemed to think Albus was enamored of the much younger witch and found it amusing that he was giving so much attention to a nameless poverty stricken refugee over twenty years his junior. They assumed his careful behavior was due to his strict upbringing and adherence to etiquette rather than a lack of sentiment.

Hermione kept her own feelings on the matter private. While she had no desire to see Albus fake being madly in love (or lust) with her, it saddened her that he was missing out on that experience. Memories of the early days of her relationships with Ron and Severus were very dear to her. She cherished every horrible poem Ron had written and all the snarled sarcastic biting comments Severus had tossed towards the boys in misplaced jealousy. Albus had never known that, and likely never would.

Dippet called Albus in for a discussion soon after and while he refused to say what their conversation was about, Hermione got the impression that Albus had smoothed over the majority of the headmaster’s concerns. Apparently the old wizard had also imparted courtship advice, for at this point Hermione started finding small tokens being left for her now and again – a new comb for her hair, a small bottle of lavender water, a book of poetry. It was unusually romantic for Albus, in an odd antique kind of way, and she found it charming - even knowing it was calculated. Each gift came with a small unsigned note in his flowing script that she’d always secretly admired. While hardly love notes, he did take the trouble to make them sound at least admiring and Hermione made it a point to share them with Mrs. Sprout. The older witch giggled like a schoolgirl over the small tokens and proclaimed Albus to be ‘smitten’. After that, the rumor mill kicked into high gear and Hermione found herself the focus of rather intense scrutiny from the other members of staff.

Hermione spent her days in the greenhouses learning from Prof. Beery what it took to care for all the myriad plants that kept the Hogwarts potion labs and kitchens stocked. Mrs. Sprout worked with her when she could, but she was often too busy helping her husband on the grounds or minding her children. She was a dear soul and Hermione could see much of her old professor in the bubbly woman. While none of her current children were named Pomona, it was very clear that the small family was the reason her future teacher had been so attached to the school and Hermione had no doubt that her old teacher would eventually be born into the small gaggle of Sprout children that lived on the grounds. Mrs. Sprout had seen to it personally that Hermione was welcomed into the fold of the school and had done everything she could to make the newest member of staff feel welcome. After the courtship had become obvious she even tried to run interference with the others to give Hermione some modicum of privacy. 

As autumn started to set in, Albus formally invited her to attend a Ministry function as his guest. This would be the first public outing they had taken together as a couple and it would serve as one of the few chances they would have to appear together prior to announcing their engagement. Knowing she would not have the attire required, Filius had graciously gifted her with formal robes and saved her from having to ask Albus for even more assistance then he was giving. Mrs. Sprout had gushed over them and spent the better part of an afternoon fighting with Hermione’s hair. By the time the two were done, she felt rather like Cinderella. 

The Ministry dinner had been a rather boring affair, truth be told. Albus had been expected to mingle with the other scholars and lower government officials and Hermione had been shocked at first at how little respect he was shown. She had to continually remind herself that to these people Albus Dumbledore was a teacher and an alchemist. He was gifted, that was obvious, and he had great potential, but they had no idea how much. Hermione drifted about the room, making mindless small talk with the wives of those in attendance, but having little knowledge of current wizarding events she found it difficult. Apparently this wasn’t a shock, since everyone assumed she was a refugee and uneducated, and it took a considerable amount of self-restraint not to hex any of the condescending pompous peacocks. 

Eventually she settled into a conversation with a woman she suspected was Neville’s grandmother and prayed for it to end. When Albus finally collected her and they returned to Hogwarts, Hermione complained that she’d rather duel a dark wizard than attend dinner parties and Albus chuckled and confessed he felt the same. 

That moment, as his eyes twinkled with mirth, Hermione knew she’d finally found a friend. Up to that point she’d considered him an ally –a vital asset to the plan. But as he laughingly told her which jinx he’d like to use on the head of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office, she knew without a doubt that he was a _friend_. 

They shared rather unflattering commentary on their fellow dinner guests well into the night and Hermione found herself laughing without reservation for the first time she could remember since Severus’ death. She’d had no idea what the man was like in private, and she could see why Severus had been so close to him. Despite the brightly colored robes and the sometimes whimsical commentary, Albus was very much like her lost lover, but without the years of servitude and Dark Arts weighing him down. His whit was just as sharp and when he thought there was no one around to hear, he wielded sarcasm with almost as much finesse. 

Dippet had also been something of a surprise. Given his rather lackluster first impression, Hermione hadn’t known what to think of the man. But within days of Dumbledore launching his rather obvious, if somewhat platonic, public courtship at the Ministry function, the headmaster had called her to his office for tea. 

“Dear girl,” Dippet started, fumbling with his teacup in nervousness. “Prof. Beery has had only glowing praise for your work and says you are coming along nicely.”

“Thank you.” Hermione looked down at her plate. “I try.”

“You are doing very well.” He assured her kindly. “And Mrs. Sprout says you’ve taken to helping her husband with the thestrals in your spare time. That is very much appreciated. The man cannot see them and it’s difficult to care for a creature you cannot locate. Rather nasty things if you ask me. Why the Founders included them I do not know. Having children brought in by carriages pulled by death horses….”

Hermione shivered. “It is not their fault that they have such disturbing natures.”

“No, no I suppose it’s not.” Dippet replied softly. 

Hermione looked up cautiously. “Did you ask to see me to tell me I am doing well?”

Dippet squirmed slightly. “Not entirely, no. It’s….it’s come to my attention, or I should say,” he cleared his throat, “I was informed…” He took a deep breath. “I wanted to see if you were comfortable here, or more specifically, if you were bothered by the attention Prof. Dumbledore has been showing you of late?”

“He is a very nice man.” Hermione let herself blush and purposely lowered her eyes. “The professor knows I am alone and he takes time away from his work to keep my company.”

“He isn’t being improper is he?”

“Oh no!” Hermione looked up in shock. “He is always a gentleman! We only meet in public and he’s never…”

Dippet raised a hand. “I didn’t mean to imply anything, my dear. It’s just, well, Albus isn’t a young man anymore, even if it seems that way sometimes from the perspective of my much greater years. I know he’s the last in his line, and it’s natural that he’s becoming interested in settling down. And I can tell after having observed you for the last few weeks that you’ve done nothing to call undue attention to yourself. I just wanted to make sure you were comfortable with his advances so soon after arriving. I do not want to have you uncomfortable. You do know you do not have to suffer his attentions if you don’t want them?” Dippet looked decidedly uncomfortable. “I mean to say, you do not _owe_ him anything – or the school. I know that where you come from it is difficult for a single witch to survive, but you are doing so well here, and…well… your position is secure no matter how matters with Albus turn out.”

Hermione felt her cheeks grow even warmer. “It…it is _soon_. Severus…I miss him.” She confessed softly, her hand going to twist her rings. “But Albus does not ask for what I cannot give and I…”

“You are lonely.” Dippet finished gently. “I can understand. How long has it been?”

Hermione closed her eyes and tried to remember. “A year, next Tuesday.” She finished, adding several months to make it seem less hasty. “I had to raise money to pay for the trip to England after he died.”

Dippet reached across his desk to pat her hand comfortingly before placing another biscuit on her plate. “I can’t imagine what it was like, losing your entire family and everything you knew in such a fashion. But you are safe here, child. You do not have to make any rushed decisions.”

“We haven’t…he hasn’t…” Hermione looked up, her eyes wide. “Do you think he intends…”

“As I said,” Dippet frowned down at his tea. “Albus is responsible for the House of Dumbledore and he has neglected his duty for some time. He would not be paying you court without intending to rectify that situation and hoping to secure the future of his House. So yes, child, I do believe he is serious.”

Hermione bit her lip and tried to look as shameful as she could as she laid the groundwork she and Albus had discussed. “I…” She looked away, forcing a tear out with a small hint of magic. “I cannot give him that.” She glanced up and then away again. “I cannot have children.”

Dippet’s breath hitched. “Does he know?”

Hermione nodded. “When he asked me to call him by his name, I suspected he was looking for a wife. I told him. I thought he would stop helping me.” She looked away again. “He did seem upset but then he asked me to go with him to the Ministry. I did not know what to think.”

“So he’s not doing this just to catch a wife.” Dippet murmured under his breath clearly talking to himself. “He must be genuinely taken with her.” He looked back up and smiled again, his hat starting its inevitable slide off his bald head. “I am sorry I bothered you with all this, my dear. I just wanted to make sure you weren’t…being unduly pressured.”

“Thank you, Headmaster.” Hermione smiled gratefully. “I can’t tell you what it means to me to have someone look out for me in this strange place.”

Dippet reached up and rescued his hat. “You are very welcome.” He righted it and then plucked another pastry off the tray. “Your accent is getting better. Have you been working on it?”

Hermione barely kept her smirk in check. “Oh yes!” she replied brightly. “Albus and I have been practicing!” In truth, she and Flitwick had modified her spell and were gradually reducing it. Hopefully by the time Riddle was old enough to start talking she would speaking with only a minor coloring to her words and eventually they could dispense with it entirely.

“Well done then. If you keep at it eventually you’ll sound like one of us!”

“Mama was English.” Hermione reminded him. “I grew up listening to her. It is not as hard as it would be for another.”

Dippet took a bite of his cake. “Just remember, you can come to me if you start getting uncomfortable.” He patted her hand again. “Now, Prof. Beery says you’re working on a potions project?”

They spent the rest of the tea discussing her ideas for a new disinfecting potion and how Albus was lending her a table in his laboratory for her to experiment. Clearly Dippet did not know much about potions but he listened attentively.

“Well,” He concluded as he stood to escort her out. “I doubted him when Albus said you were qualified for the NEWTS, but I believe I see what he meant. I am happy that we were able to offer you a situation here that should provide you with opportunities.” He grabbed at his hat as it fell and frowned as he slammed it back onto his head. “It has been a pleasure, Mrs. Dalca.”

The week before the students were to return, Albus asked her to marry him, as planned. The ring was his mother’s and while Hermione knew it was for show – it would give them better cover– it meant a great deal to her that he would trust her with it. It was a simple engagement ring – a single ruby, clearly a very old cut, set in a band of spell hardened gold. Albus’ mother had been the first to wear it as an engagement ring, but it had been in his family for generations.

Albus’ only request was that they personally go to Hogsmeade to tell his brother rather than let him hear second hand. Hermione agreed and before they left to walk to the village she reluctantly removed her two rings and placed them on a charmed chain around her neck. Albus had quietly insisted that she need not remove them, but Hermione’s finger was only so large and a third would have been unwieldy. She felt naked without them, and she spent a majority of their trip twisting the chain and clutching at the two slim pieces of gold. The new ring felt heavy on her hand.

Hermione’s heart broke at how hostel the younger brother was to his only remaining family. Albus bore his ill treatment with grace, never arguing with his brother as he ranted at Albus for his irresponsibility. When Aberforth caught sight of the ring his speech faltered and he looked with shocked eyes at his older brother.

“You gave her mother’s ring.”

Albus closed his eyes as if in pain. “Yes. I did ask her to marry me, Aberforth.” He opened them up to look pleadingly at his brother. “I wrote to you, to ask you if you minded, but you did not return the owl. I hope it is alright…it’s just, Hermione reminds me so much of her…” he trailed off and Hermione looked at him in shock.

It was the first time he’d mentioned his mother and while the comparison was new to her, she could tell that he’d meant it. Albus looked at her, his blue eyes moist. “Hermione, I know that I’m hardly an ideal suitor. But I do promise I will do everything in power to protect you.”

“Like you protected mother? Like you protected our sister!” Aberforth roared.

Hermione ignored him, staring into Albus’ eyes. “You do realize I don’t need protected?”

“Need?” Albus chuckled softly. “No, I don’t suppose you do. But that is no reason not to do it.”

“So long as you realize I intend to return the favor.” Hermione smiled softly before turning to Aberforth, her gaze hardening. “Now, you,” she glared and stuck her finger out, poking him in the chest. “You need to think very hard about how you want to treat your brother. He’s the last family you have, and while I know you’ve both had a terrible time of it, I want you to ask yourself one very important question.”

“That would be?” The younger Dumbledore huffed, crossing his arms.

“From what I’ve heard, Ariana loved you both dearly and when she was in her right mind she forgave you both any transgression. Do you think she’d want you to hold this grudge?”

Albus’ eyes went large and Aberforth stuttered. “What do you know of Ariana?”

“Enough.” Hermione said gently, stepping back and relaxing her posture. “No one will ever know what really happened that day, and I know you will never forgive yourself for it. Do you think Albus forgives himself?” She pointed sadly at Albus were he stood, his expression still showing his shock. “He has to live with his guilt every day and he’s done nothing since but strive to never repeat the errors of his youth and to grant every child a chance at a normal life. Have you ever asked him why he became a professor?”

Aberforth looked at his brother in confusion. “Why did you?”

Albus stepped forward hesitantly. “After what happened with Gellert and Ariana, I knew I was not worthy of power, Aberforth. The Ministry offered me several positions and instead I took the job at Hogwarts hoping that in time I could change the way we treat children like Ariana. If we hadn’t kept her secret, if there had been a way to find help for her….”

“Don’t you dare blame her for what happened!”

“I’m not.” Albus sighed. “But what kind of life were we offering her, Aberforth? If she hadn’t died that day, what do you think would have become of her?” Albus sat down wearily on the worn stool next to his brother’s bar. “She was only fourteen and her magic was getting stronger by the day. We both are quite powerful and I have no doubt that when she finally reached magical maturity she would have been as well. But she couldn’t control it – and we would not have been able to control her. She hated herself for what happened to mother. If I’d let you become her guardian and you’d taken to caring for her it was only a matter of time before she killed you to. What do you think she would have done then, knowing that it was because of her that her entire family was dead?”

Aberforth growled. “That wouldn’t have happened! And if it did it wouldn’t have been her fault!”

“No.” Albus shook his head sadly. “It wouldn’t have been her fault. But she wasn’t dim witted, Aber. She knew it was her magic that had killed mother. She knew she couldn’t control it. She was scared all the time that she would hurt someone else.” Albus pleaded with his brother to understand. “The best we could have done was send her to Mungos and they would have treated her like a prisoner. I’m working to change that, Aber. I want to make it possible for all children to go to Hogwarts. There are others like her, children they don’t think are good enough that the board of governors reject. When I’m headmaster – and I will be- I’ll change that.”

“Ariana could never have gone to Hogwarts.” Aberforth argued angrily.

“Not as she was.” Albus agreed softly. “But mother and father hid her away so young. It wasn’t right, Aber. You were too little at the time to remember all of it, how it all happened. If they hadn’t been so ashamed of it all, if father hadn’t gone after the muggles and mother hadn’t moved us and hidden her away, so much might have been different. They never tried to get her help, they just hid her away as if they were ashamed. I know mother wanted to protect her, but making her scared to even go out of the house was hardly the answer.”

“It was likely a stress disorder.” Hermione interjected softly. “A post trauma stress disorder to be more specific. It makes people act like Ariana did – violent outbursts, uncontrollable emotions, flashbacks to the event that caused it, and attempts to avoid things associated with it - like magic.” Hermione shook her head. “I can’t say for certain, but based on the descriptions I’ve heard, I would say she likely suffered from a very bad case of it. But there are ways to help people overcome it. It’s possible that some children like her could be helped and eventually lead a normal life. There was no way for you to know that at the time, but Albus is working towards that.”

Aberforth grunted. “You want me to believe you two are up there at that castle actually _caring_ for children? Albus Dumbledore, actually give a damn about another human being?”

“Aber,” Albus reached out towards his brother only to be brushed away. “I loved Ariana, I love _you_! Not everything I do in life is part of some twisted plan.”

“I know you.” Aberforth accused darkly. “There’s some plot here, I know it. You aren’t marrying her because you love her. Not you, _invert_.” His tone dripped with accusation and Albus paled. “Didn’t tell her that, did you?”

The hex hit him point blank in the side of his head and he went down in a pile of dirty robes and grubby hair. Hermione strode over quickly and cast a vicious binding spell. “That’s enough out of you!” she thundered. “We came here to invite you to the wedding, but I think Albus was being overly optimistic. If you can’t be civil long enough to even be introduced to your future sister-in-law, I can’t imagine what it would have been like to grow up with you. It’s no wonder he wanted to leave the country.” Hermione glared down at the wizard as he struggled with his bonds. “Come on, Albus.” Hermione turned and yanked a startled Albus to his feet. 

“Hermione, you shouldn’t have…” he was cut off as she pulled him down and whispered in his ear.

“Play along.” She hissed before her lips crashed into his.

Albus squeaked and Hermione angled them so Aberforth couldn’t see the shocked expression on his brother’s face. She held him there, pretending to snog his brains out, for a long moment before letting him go. She grabbed his hand and marched him out of the pub before either brother could say another word. 

They were half way back to the castle by the time Albus found words to protest. 

“What was that for!”

“Someone has to defend you; you certainly weren’t doing a very good job of it.” Hermione snarled as she walked quickly through the school wards. “Come on, he’ll be free any second and I think we should be well inside the wards by the time he chews through.”

“Shouldn’t we go back and free him?” Albus asked hesitantly.

Hermione snorted. “I’ve seen that man duel, Albus. I don’t want to be anywhere near that pub for the next year. I’ve just given him plenty to think about. Let him stew.”

Albus rushed to keep up with her as she furiously stalked towards the school. He reached out and grabbed her arm to stop her. “How did you know all that about Ariana? I can’t believe I told you all that, no matter how close we were in the future – you being my student.”

Hermione sighed, brushing a stray strand of hair out of her eyes. “Your papers had some information in them, and, well… after you died, this woman wrote a book.” Hermione’s eyes flashed dangerously. “A very nasty book full of all sorts of horrible lies. But in between the gossip and half-truths were a few bits of reality. And Severus knew a lot more than I did. The two of you were very _close_.” Hermione left how close unsaid. “There came a point that we needed Aberforth’s help to evacuate the school. Between what was in the letters, the book, what Severus said, and what Aberforth screamed at us, I put it together.” Hermione’s eyes softened apologetically. “And I did spend a fair amount of time with a portrait of Ariana once. She didn’t speak, but she communicated in other ways.”

Albus sucked in a sharp breath. “There’s a portrait of her?”

Hermione nodded. “Aberforth has it. I don’t know how he got it.”

Albus crumpled to the ground bonelessly to hold his head in his hands. “I … I don’t know how to make him not hate me.”

Hermione sank down slowly next to him. “I don’t know that there’s anything you can do, Albus. I know this sounds strange coming from me, but the past is the past – you can’t change it. And Aberforth is forever stuck in it. You told me once that being at Hogwarts, protecting and caring for all those young witches and wizards, gave you meaning and purpose. What does Aberforth have?”

“A pub and goats.”

Hermione smiled wryly. “Exactly. He’s buried himself away while you’ve tried to use your sister’s tragedy to help.”

Albus looked up into her eyes. “Do you really think there might have been a way to help her?”

“In the 1890s, no.” Hermione sighed. “In my time? The muggles were struggling to find ways to treat that kind of stress disorder. Wizards hadn’t come around to it fully yet, but there was some work being done. A lot of it would have come down to whether the attack left only psychological damage or if they actually injured her brain.”

“They…took advantage.” Albus whispered. “They beat her and left her for dead.”

Hermione took his hand. “I know.” 

“She was my baby sister.” Albus looked up tearfully. “I failed to protect her then, and I failed her that day with Gellert. I won’t fail this school. I won’t let Gellert win and I will stop what happened to your world from happening here.”

“I know you will.” Hermione agreed softly.

Albus blinked. “You kissed me.”

Hermione smirked. “Well, you wanted him to believe this was a love match didn’t you?” Albus opened his mouth but couldn’t find the words and Hermione chuckled. “I know that wizards aren’t into public displays of affection, but one kiss can’t be that shocking.”

Albus’ shook his head. “I’d never…”

Hermione’s smile faded quickly. “Don’t tell me you’d _never_ kissed someone?”

Albus blushed. “Gellert wasn’t interested, remember?”

Hermione shifted to lean against his shoulder. “ _That’s_ what he meant.”

“Who?”

“Severus.” Hermione closed her eyes and sighed. “Dear Merlin, the other you must have been a hundred year old virgin when you two finally hooked up.”

“Your husband…” Albus couldn’t quite form the question.

“Yes.” Hermione admitted softly. “He never said it, but yes. I think the two of you were involved. He wasn’t ashamed of it, but Severus was a very private person and he didn’t like to discuss the past if he could avoid it. I probably wouldn’t have suspected anything if he didn’t have the nightmares.”

“He killed me.”

“Yes.” Hermione whispered.

“Because I asked him to.” Albus inquired softly.

“Yes.” Hermione’s voice cracked. “You were dying anyway. You’d triggered a dark curse attempting to talk to Ariana’s spirit. You’d hoped that if Severus killed you it would cement his place in Voldemort’s ranks and when the Death Eaters took the school you were gambling it would be enough to have him appointed headmaster. It was your way of protecting the school.”

“Did it work?”

“For a time.” Heroine whipped angrily at her eyes. “But it broke Severus in ways even he didn’t expect. He never got over it.”

“Would…” Albus cleared his throat. “Would he mind this? What we are doing?”

Hermione turned to look at him, raising an eyebrow. “If he’d come back with me, as planned? Then yes, he’d mind. He’d want to know why he wasn’t being included.” At least, that’s what she hoped he’d say.

Albus couldn’t fight back a small smile. “So, it’s really not so shocking a thing in your time, being the way I am?”

“Fairly common place in the muggle world.” Hermione shrugged. “In the wizarding? Draco said it wasn’t something anybody talked about it pureblood circles – everyone was expected to marry for practical reasons anyway and nobody much cared who he carried on with so long as he produced an heir through the traditional means. I knew lots of people in school that liked either gender, or just one or the other. People were more open about it in Gryffindor and Hufflepuff than the other houses though. I suspect it was because most of the old families ended up in Ravenclaw and Slytherin.”

“So not everything was horrible.”

“No, not everything.” Hermione rested her head on his shoulder as they sat on the grounds and watched the fall sun set. Her fingers reached up without conscious thought to grasp her rings. “Not everything.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was trying to post a chapter a day. I missed yesterday so that was a really long one to try and make up for it.


	14. Dinner Introductions

Dinner promised to be an awkward affair. Hermione had yet to meet the entire staff, and so far all their meals had been taken in the less formal setting of the Hogwarts kitchen or in her or Albus’ rooms. With the students returning in a week’s time, all members of staff were reporting for duty. Tonight was their welcome back dinner in the Great Hall and not only was she be facing many of the them for the first time, they would also be announcing their engagement. 

Headmaster Dippet placed her chair next to his deputy and Hermione felt odd being so close to the center seat. Of course, even being on the raised faculty dais was odd. Either Dippet had known about Albus’ plans, or the man wasn’t nearly as daft as he appeared. Hermione sat down hesitantly and Albus smiled at her, taking her hand in his and giving it a gentle squeeze for encouragement before letting go. 

When everyone was seated, Dippet stood and made introductions. The majority of the staff were returning and knew one another. Hermione nodded at each of them as they were introduced. When that formality was over, Albus touched the Headmaster’s arm and asked if he could speak. Dippet waved him forward and Albus stood and hesitantly cleared his throat.

“I wanted all of you to be among the first to know…” he glanced down at Hermione nervously and she smiled up at him and stood slowly to stand by him. He took her hand again and she could feel him trembling. Mrs. Sprout drew in a sharp breath, the sound seeming to break something loose in Albus. “I’ve asked Hermione to marry me.”

There was a long moment of silence and Hermione glanced around apprehensively. Filius was smiling at them, and Mrs. Sprout was dabbing at her eyes as tears of joy trickled down her round cheeks. Dippet looked pleased and not at all shocked. Beery smiled indulgently at her. But the rest were unreadable. Albus grew even more tense next her as he waited for some kind of a reaction. Eventually Agatha Cathswald, the current Potion Professor stood. The small elderly woman eyed them both critically before she started a slow and deliberate clapping. Soon, the rest of the table was on its feet, congratulations and best wishes coming at them from all sides. Several of the faculty members that had been in the school and remembered Albus from his youth laughed at his nervousness.

Galatea Merrythought, the Defense professor, was the last to move towards them. She was a hard woman who had forced her way into a profession normally closed to witches and Albus had explained earlier that day that without Merrythought there was little chance the curriculum would ever have been changed. It was thanks to her that witches were now required to attend DADA instead of actively discouraged from it. It had taken the tall witch nearly thirty years to push the changes through and she’d had to fight tooth and nail for every inch. Out of all the staff at the school, Albus respected her the most and had since his own days as a student. She reminded Hermione of Mad-Eye at his most lethal and she seemed to have a fondness for Albus. Her harsh expression eased as she neared him and to Hermione’s shock she pulled the wizard into a fierce hug. “Boy, what did I tell you?” She admonished with a snarl. “Didn’t I tell you I had to approve of anyone you set out to wed?” 

She let go of Albus and without a another word tossed a rather nasty curse at Hermione’s head. Hermione blocked the spell and fired one of her own without hesitation. The two spells clashed in the air between them, one canceling the other out. By that point, Hermione had already ducked and rolled to the far side of the table, another curse flying from her wand towards the other witch. Merrythought threw up a shield to deflect it but didn’t return fire. Instead she smiled, the harsh lines of her face taking on a pleased air. “I like her.” She pronounced loudly as the rest of the table gapped at them and Albus chuckled.

Apparently this was Merrythought’s form of a handshake, for once the spell fire stopped bouncing off the stone walls, the elderly woman smiled and offered her congratulations and a gruff “need help picking dress robes?”

Hermione, still crouched near the Ravenclaw table stood up slowly. “If you wanted a practice duel, couldn’t you at least wait till after the first course?” She eyed her opponent carefully as she returned to her seat, attempting to appear as unconcerned as possible. She put on her best impersonation of Severus and drawled. “I should warn you that I find I’m less inclined to accidently kill my dueling partners when I’m fed.” 

Merrythought laughed. “I heard about you and Albus going at it on the front lawn. Filius claimed it was epic.” She speared a bit of roast with her fork and waved it in the air as she talked. “I was his first dueling instructor, you know.”

“Taught me how to duck.” Albus clarified. “And roll. And run for my life.” 

“Most important part in a real duel.” Hermione agreed grimly. “Firing curses is all well and good but only if you survive long enough to get to proper cover. Any idiot can stand still and cast, but nobody lasts long in a real fight that way.”

The elderly witch nodded. “All that proper etiquette is only good in a testing event. Go up against the real thing you need to know how to survive. I may not be as fast with a wand as Filius, but I’m _much_ better at dodging. Or I should say I was, before my ankles gave out on me.”

Filius laughed. “This witch taught me, in my day. I credit her with my title.”

Dippet sighed. “Oh not this again.”

“If they’d have let a witch compete…” Merrythought started and the entire table groaned. 

“Perhaps you can fill Hermione in on the whole story later, dear.” Mrs. Sprout frowned. 

Merrythought growled and angrily speared a potato. Hermione leaned over and whispered in her ear, “How about you and I get a little practice in before the children come? I need someone to lob spells my direction while I practice defensive moves. Albus isn’t nearly aggressive enough to keep me in practice.”

The elderly witch’s expression turned gleeful. “Really? And you’ll let me get _creative_?”

“Gladly.” Hermione agreed. “And I actually could use help with dress robes for the wedding. I’m afraid I have no idea what’s appropriate.”

Merrythought laughed. “I’m afraid I’m probably the last witch you want to ask for that. Glenda down there is our school nurse and she’s an eye for that kind of thing. I tend to take whatever happens to be long enough and in the right size.”

“Oh, we’ll take you out, don’t you worry.” Mrs. Sprout piped in, pointing between herself and Filius. “I know this wonderful seamstress out the other side of Hogsmeade. She’s not _fashionable_ , not to those London witches, but she can duplicate anything you’d find in Diagon Alley and for half the price.”

Hermione blushed. “I…”

“Price isn’t a problem, Cara.” Albus spoke up, his tone gentle. “Hermione,” he put a hand comfortingly on her shoulder. “You never got a proper wedding, did you? Before?”

“No.” Hermione admitted softly. She could see a few looks of confusion from some of the faculty that hadn’t been privy to her past and her hand went to her necklace. “It…it wasn’t possible, not then.”

“I think it’s high time you had one then, hum?” His eyes twinkled with mischief. “It has been some time since we had a proper ball, don’t you think Headmaster?”

Dippet’s fork paused half way to his mouth. “Ball?” His eyes light up brightly. “Oh, Albus, do you mean it?” The elderly wizard practically bounced in his seat. “A wedding ball, here! Oh, oh…we’ll do up the Hall like the _old days_ … yes!” Dippet’s hat fell forward onto his plate and he took no notice. “Oh, Galatea,” he turned to Merrythought. “Do you remember the last wedding we had at Hogwarts?” 

Merrythought smiled, a look of fond remembrance taking over her. “Oh, Armando…” she closed her eyes. “That was ages ago, but yes…yes I remember.” She sighed softly. “It was a spring wedding, that nice muggle studies witch and that wizard of hers from America, wasn’t it? Martha Flexing and Roger…”

“Roger Bittlebun.” Cathswald supplied. “Muggleborns weren’t they? She insisted on a white dress.”

“It was lovely.” Mrs. Sprout added. “I was in my last year as a student. Prof. Flexing’s mother made it. It had …” she made a shape in the air.

Hermione chuckled. “Bustle? On her...backside?” 

“Yes! That’s what she called it.” Sprout giggled. “It jiggled when she walked.”

“Silly muggle thing.” Merrythought huffed good-naturedly. “Couldn’t have run in that if her life depended on it.”

“Oh you!” Sprout admonished. “Running was hardly the point.” She smiled wickedly. “ _Roger_ seemed to enjoy that bouncing.”

Albus was turning a bright red during the exchange. “I was thinking more along the lines of the dancing…”

Cathswald’s chuckled. “Yes, we should warn you girl, Albus here is quite light on his feet. Doesn’t get much of a chance to dance these days, do you old man?”

“Not since Galatea broke her ankle a few years back.” Albus admitted.

Dippet frowned down at his plate before spelling his hat clean. “But yes, it would be nice to have a proper wedding ball. It does the students well to see a formal occasion now and then. Half of the poor things won’t get an ounce of etiquette from their parents, not these days. It will be a chance to show them a good example of proper wizard deportment in such a setting.”

“What he means to say,” Merrythought cut in, “is that it’s a chance for him to eat far too much cake, flirt shamelessly with scandalously young witches, and spend two weeks putting up the most ghastly decorations imaginable.”

Dippet frowned. “I thought you liked my decorations?” Soon the entire table was busy arguing over their colleagues wedding plans and the Great Hall was full of the sound of laugher and cheerful plotting.

Hermione leaned closer to Albus and whispered in his ear, “You just made their year, you know that?”

“I hope you don’t mind.” He supplied back, a small smile on his face. “If we let them do the planning it will mean we can have the ceremony here and not have to worry about who to invite and whatnot. If school’s in session the guest list will have to be kept small.”

Hermione frowned. “Who do we need to invite?”

“Aberforth of course, even though after today I doubt he’ll come.” Albus rubbed his beard in thought. “A neighbor or two from Godric’s Hallow. Nicholas of course… not many.”

Merrythought caught the jest of the conversation and put a comforting hand on Hermione’s where it was gripping her fork unnaturally tight. “You’ve no one to invite, do you girl?”

“No.” Hermione admitted, her voice gruff. “Not anymore.”

Cara nodded. “Then it’s a fine idea to have it here. We’ll all stand with you, Hermione. Haven’t a fear of that. You’re Hogwarts family now.”

Hermione blinked, her eyes starting to tear. “I…”

Merrythought patted her gently. “I know, girl. It’s alright. Hogwarts has a way of collecting us strays. All of us, we’re all we’ve got. Misfits and orphans and rejects, the lot. But we’re a family, bound faster than blood alone can allow.”

The others nodded sagely and Albus took her hand. “Welcome to Hogwarts, Hermione. We may fight like cats and dogs on occasion, but I think you’ll find that we’re painfully loyal to one another.”

Hermione couldn’t stop a few tears from escaping. They rolled down her cheeks and she brushed them away. “Yes…yes you are.” She thought of Severus and the Albus from her time, McGonagall, and the future Filius. “I can’t believe I’m one of you.” She whispered.

Cara Sprout pulled her into a fast hug. “Oh dearie!” She cried. “We’re so glad to have you!”

Merrythought snorted. “I can’t believe you can put up with this dandy long enough to marry him. You’re costing me 10 Gallons. I had a bet going with Armando he’d die bachelor.” She poked Albus in the shoulder good-naturedly. “Now pass the gravy!” She demanded loudly. “I’ve had about as much bonding as one old witch can take.”


	15. Waisted Talent

Wedding dress shopping with Cara Sprout and Filius Flitwick was the single most surreal experience of Hermione’s life, including traveling back in time. Cara was apparently a fan of muggle high fashion, and Filius seemed to know far more about witch’s robes than any wizard ought. Between the two of them they had shepherded Hermione to more then a dozen robes shops and dressmakers in both Wizarding and Muggle London. Cara was admit that her seamstress could duplicate anything, and so Filius had transfigured their robes into high-end muggle clothing and they’d ended up in Paris when London proved unworthy – in Cara and Filius’ opinion at least. Hermione wasn’t particularly interested in what was “in” this season or what _any_ shade of cream did to her eyes. 

Frankly, to her the entire fashion establishment – both wizard and muggle – was abysmal in the 1920’s, not that it was terribly stimulating in any era. Everything was shapeless and formless and, if anyone had bothered to ask, she’d have preferred the bustle dress that the last Hogwarts bride had warn. Cara finally took notice of her less then enthusiastic attitude to shopping after they’d covered another six shops. 

“Is it because we’re in muggle shops?” Cara nervously twisted her hands. “Oh, I didn’t think of that. Albus is so progressive I just assumed…after all, they’ve got so much more to choose from then we do these days.”

“NO!” Hermione corrected firmly. “Mama was muggleborn.” She added when Cara looked dubious. “I don’t care about that. It’s just…” Hermione struggled to explain why nothing was catching her eye, without telling her the full truth – that the wedding was pretense and nothing more, and that frankly she didn’t give a damn what she wore. 

Filius stepped in. “You don’t care about the wedding do you? Not all the trappings of it anyway. You just want the ceremony without the pomp and circumstance. This was all Albus and Armando’s idea, wasn’t it? You’re just doing this to make everyone else happy.” He deflated a little as he said it. Apparently, even though he knew the truth, Filius had been looking forward to the big event as much as everyone else.

Hermione sighed and sank down onto a park bench. “Yes, yes that’s it. I know Albus thinks he’s doing me a favor, paying for a big wedding, but really… I just want it over. I’ve never been one for big parties.” She grudgingly admitted. “I’m not opposed to it, I just…well…I’m not terribly good at this sort of thing.”

“Doesn’t help that the dress won’t be white.” Cara added softly. “Oh dear. I forgot for a moment how difficult it must be for you. You’re still mourning your last husband, aren’t you? Why didn’t you tell Albus you wanted to wait? ”

Hermione shook her head. “Severus wouldn’t want me to hold off on living. After all, he and I married only a few months after Ronald died…” she left off the fact that she’d never actually married either man. “I don’t want to _wait_ , I just… it is hard to be excited about something when you are doing it for the third time.” She smiled grimly. “But this is the first time for Albus -and all of you, you’re so excited for it, I don’t want to disappoint all of you.” Hermione stood up. “Now, if it’s a wedding Hogwarts wants, then it is a wedding it will have. If you both liked that last dress, then we’ll see if Cara’s seamstress can duplicate it.”

“No.” Cara stated firmly, her hands on her hips. “You may be going along with everything just to make that man of yours happy, but you will _not_ wear a wedding gown you don’t like just to satisfy Filius and I. How about we go back to the wizarding shops? Would you feel more comfortable in robes even if they are a little dull?”

“No.” Hermione sighed dejectedly. “I just…I don’t _like_ these dresses. They are…”

Realization seemed to dawn suddenly on Cara. “Oh! These aren’t what people wear in Romania, are they?”

“No, but that is not it.” Hermione bit her lip and tried to think of a good lie. “I just...” She went with a half-truth. “I always imagined I would wear my mama’s dress.” Cara’s eyes teared up as Hermione kept explaining. “It’s gone, and I know it wouldn’t be fashionable anyway…”

“What did it look like?” Filius asked gently.

There was no way she could have a duplicate of her mother’s dress made. The pressed chiffon mini dress wasn’t something that the wizarding world of 1926 was ready for. But Hermione described it in general terms, adding a long skirt to it and Cara sketched it as she talked. When she was done, she held up a simple dress that did remind Hermione of her mother’s and yet held enough of the current wizarding robe style to not be seen as completely muggle. She took the drawing with shaking fingers.

“Do you think your seamstress can make that?” Filius asked hesitantly.

“I don’t see why not.” Cara took Hermione’s trembling fingers in her hands. “Would you like that?”

Hermione couldn’t speak around the lump in her throat. Cara took that for the affirmative it was. 

 

The rest of the wedding planning was handled by the overly excited staff of Hogwarts, which left Hermione with little to do. The others were finishing up their lesson plans and in the morning the students would return. The wedding was set to take place on Samhain, and until then all Hermione could do was bid her time in the greenhouses and study for her NEWTS. Riddle wouldn’t be born until late December, which would give the new couple time to settle in.

Dippet was already picking out new rooms for them, having proclaimed Albus’ quarters much too small. Apparently Albus had confessed their intention to eventually adopt and Dippet was planning accordingly. It was strange how different this Hogwarts was from the one she knew. The Sprout family lived on site, and their children played openingly on the grounds. The Runes professor and his wife, who taught Astronomy, lived with their daughter and jointly managed Hufflepuff. In all there were near a dozen children of faculty present and Hermione had been shocked to discover that Hogwarts had, since it’s founding, always encouraged staff to bring their families with them. She’d read about it in Hogwarts: A History, of course, but for some reason the true ramifications of that had never been clear to her. 

There was a nursery just off the 3rd floor corridor – down the same hall where they’d found Fluffy. And the underground passage to Hogsmeade that in her day opened up into the chocolate shop now took the staff’s children to the primary school located in the village. What had happened to change the nature of the school so much? Would the coming war cause everything to change? Or had it been Voldemort? 

Hermione tried to imagine what it would have been like if the professors of her time had had families. If McGonagall’s fiancé hadn’t been killed weeks before her wedding, if Madam Pince’s husband hadn’t gone missing, if Sinistra’s son hadn’t gotten life for the Dark Mark…. If Severus had married Lily Evans. This Hogwarts so was much more _alive_ than the school she new and Hermione felt a deep melancholy when she thought of the other Albus and Filius having lived through whatever it was that had so changed it. This Hogwarts had never known war.

Albus had finished evaluating her for which classes she would need to sit and had consulted with the other faculty. Hermione was nervous about returning to course work and having to interact with adolescent witches and wizards again. It had been so long since she’d had a formal class, and it felt like decades since she’d been that young – even if she wasn’t actually that much older then the other students. If the choice had been hers, she would have gladly used the year to quietly refresh her theory from books and the occasional private meeting. But Dippet and a handful of the other professors had insisted that she attend at least a few classes and she’d agreed rather than argue with her new ‘family’, as it were.

Not surprisingly, Merrythought had been one of the most insistent. She’d put Hermione through her own version of testing, unwilling to take Albus at his word. Defense had never been her best subject, and compared to Harry or Draco she’d been a competent but not exceptional dueler while in school. Life on the run had given her a skill set that far excelled that of a seventh year, or even most of the aurors that she’d run across, but it had been a hard won knowledge. Merrythought couldn’t find fault with her expertise with curses or counter spells, but she did take exception to Hermione’s lack of knowledge on the magical mechanics behind them. “You’ve clearly memorized half the spell grimoires in existence,” Merrythought had accused, “but you don’t know how to fight off the unknown. Most of what we’ll cover will be review for you, but I want you in that room thinking about _why_ something is the way it is. I want you working on not just how to improve on existing spells, but creating better ones.” Hermione couldn’t argue with her logic, so she’d agreed to attend DADA.

The one professor whose reaction she just couldn’t understand was the arithmancy instructor, Heather Belby. Prof. Belby was in her third year as a Hogwarts instructor and had been the youngest person on staff by a decade – until Hermione. Hermione wasn’t sure if that was the issue, or if Belby was jealous of all the attention the wedding was bringing, but the witch had been nothing but condescending and rude since the staff dinner. When Albus had stopped by her office to ask about having Hermione tested for arithmancy placement, Belby had tried to refuse. Albus had to pull rank and insist on it before she would relent to even allowing Hermione into the 7th year class. She claimed she didn’t have the time to test her, and that there would be no special accommodations – either Hermione would keep up or she’d fail and Belby made it very clear that she wouldn’t be giving any remedial help. Albus had apologized, and asked if Hermione wanted to change her mind about sitting the arithmancy NEWT, or if he could find her a tutor for it since Belby was apparently unable to assist. Albus had been confused by his colleague’s behavior, but claimed that witch had always been a bit odd.

Hermione wasn’t about to give up a chance for an arithmancy NEWT because of one snarly teacher. She’d survived Severus at his worst – she could handle Heather Belby. She just wished she knew why the other witch was being so difficult. 

Arithmancy had always been Hermione’s best subject. For all that Albus had praised her potions ability, she owed her skill more to Severus’ influence and a near eidetic memory than any innate talent. She _enjoyed_ potions, and she was good at it – just like she was good at charms and runes. Anything that involved a book and memorization Hermione could do well at without much effort at all – and always had. But Arithmancy took more than memorization. To be good at arithmancy you had to be able to _feel_ the magic in the equation – to manipulate the numbers and the runes along the ebb and flow of the magical lay lines, to drift and swirl in patterns of probability and choice. Basic arithmancy was child’s play – number substitutions and basic arithmetic. _Real_ arithmancy took skill and patience and magical intuition – and a keen since of logic and statistical aptitude. Hermione was _born_ for it and had life worked out differently she’d have happily spent her days floating in an arithmantic chamber in the heart of the Ministry as one of the select and most closely guarded assets of the Unspeakables.

In fact, prior to the fall of Hogwarts that had been the plan. Hermione had been training for it, spending her off periods in the castle’s private chamber learning how to manipulate the advanced calculations required of a practicing arithmancer. She’d been the only Gryffindor that Vector had taken into her advanced class, and had the school not fallen, she’d have been the only 7th year NEWT level student. Vector had been negotiating with the Arithmancy Guild about having Hermione tested for admittance when the world had gone to hell. 

Hermione had all but given up dreams of being a recognized arithmancy Master. They were few and far between and even Vector hadn’t actually held that title. Oh, Vector knew her way around a chart, that wasn’t in doubt. But she only had minor standing in the guild. In fact, no one had received full qualification as a Master Arithmancer in over 70 years. Vector thought that with time and training, Hermione could have advanced that far. But life on the run meant an end to that plan and even now Hermione knew that wasn’t going to be possible. The best she could hope for was a chance to earn a NEWT in her favorite subject and to have occasional access to the Hogwarts chamber to practice. An apprenticeship with Flamel and Filius would qualify her to work in either potions or alchemy, and that would let her complete Severus’ work – which was enough. She could use her talent with arithmancy to aid in her brewing and that thought pleased her.

She’d _so_ been looking forward to meeting Belby and out of all the courses at Hogwarts this one she’d been the most excited about revisiting. Hermione had heard all about Belby when she’d been a student the first time. Vector had praised her old teacher with glowing words and while she couldn’t confirm it, rumor had it Belby had managed to join the elite group of arithmancers the Unspeakables employed. In fact, Hermione had always suspected that it was Belby Vector had been discussing Hermione’s future with. So it came as both a shock and a disappointment to find the witch was actively opposed to taking on a new student –without even evaluating her. 

Of course, with her cover story of being a homeschooled witch, Belby had no reason to expect Hermione had any talent. In fact, it was nearly ridiculous to expect her to be able to pass the OWLS let alone NEWT level material. There were only three students scheduled to take 7th year Arithmancy. Two of the others were from pureblood families with long histories of excelling in the subject and the third was a halfblood who had shown early promise. If Cara’s gossip was correct, none of them were guild material and Belby had been very disappointed that she’d yet to find anyone to take on. Hermione had been holding out the irrational hope of building a friendship with her.

That wasn’t going to happen. And since the Hogwarts Arithmancy Chamber was only accessible by permission of the Arithmancy Instructor, Hermione wasn’t likely to gain access to that either. 

Of course, she managed most things just fine with a cast circle or by using the ancient arithmantic stones Draco had given her. There were only five sets known to exist, and the Malfoy family had been in possession of one for generations. How Draco had managed to get them out of the manor without his father knowing was a mystery, but when he’d defected to their side he’d brought them along in the hopes they would buy him good will. He’d sat in enough arithmancy classes with her to know her talent and while he wasn’t bad at the subject, he was no where near her skill. It was by using the stones that they’d been able to plot out which plan would work best to change the past and undue Voldemort’s reign. 

But circles and stones weren’t nearly as powerful as a full Arithmantic Chamber. Chambers could only be built where multiple magical lay lines intersected. Hogwarts had one that the founders themselves had constructed, and many scholars speculated that it was the opportunity to create the Chamber that had led to the selection of the castle as the location for the school. The Ministry had three modern versions, less powerful than the ancient chambers but still useful. The most powerful were the ancient chambers that had been built before the time of Merlin. One was under Stonehenge, and others in Abydos and Heliopolis, Cuzco and Constantinople. Nippur’s had been destroyed, and so had Allahabad’s. Rumor had it that Kyoto’s was still in existence, but the location was lost and many arithmancers had died trying to locate it. Belby had every reason to hoard her access, but Hermione couldn’t help but be suspicious as to her motives.

It didn’t help that Hermione had babbled enthusiastically at her during dessert that first night. Apparently Belby didn’t hold much stock in Chaldean Arithmancy and Hermione had made the mistake of expounding on one of the theoretical tracks that was specific to that branch. In her time, Vector had been surprised when Hermione had taken naturally to the more archaic of the arithmetical paths and it wasn’t until she’d learned that Hermione’s maternal grandmother had been an Assyrian refugee that they’d figured out why. 

Success with arithmancy depended on sympathetic magics that were usually only found in wizarding folk that descended from specific genetic lines – which was why so few muggleborns or halfbloods ever excelled in them. Nobody knew _why_ this was the case, since with the exception of divination birth seemed to play little role in the other subjects. Anybody could learn _basic_ arithmancy but to tackle the use of stones or chamber, it took someone with the innate ability. Vector had theorized that somewhere along the line, Hermione’s Assyrian ancestors had crossed with a wizarding line that carried that sympathetic magic. The talent had laid dormant until someone with magical ability had been born into the family. Belby would always have difficulty with the Chaldean branch since she didn’t have the required sympathetic magics. Hermione, however, _did_ by some twist of genetics. It wasn’t Belby’s fault, and there was nothing Hermione could do about it. But since there weren’t many wizards or witches in England that had Assyrian heritage, the Chaldean branch wasn’t as widely known as the Agrippan. The way Belby had lashed out at her that night, and Albus the next day, she apparently held to the rather bigoted camp of thought that concluded anything they didn’t know about was inherently inferior.

Hermione somehow managed to make it through the sorting feast without spilling food down herself or doing anything else embarrassing. As she laid in bed that night, she couldn’t help but worry about what Belby would do in class the next day. Arithmancy was a double period and the first class of the day. Hermione would only be sitting in on it, DADA, and Runes. The rest of the courses she’d be revising on her own. Most of her day would still be in the greenhouses.

Hermione made sure she was early to class the next morning and took a seat towards the front. With only four students in total sitting in the back would be rather odd. The others came in and greeted her warmly, if somewhat curiously. They were all male and they eyed her with open speculation. The tallest of them, wearing a Ravenclaw emblem, made the first move.

“Flavious Tremlett.” He held his hand out. “Is it true you’ve accepted Dumbledore?”

Hermione raised an eyebrow but shook his hand, making sure her grip was firm but quick. “Hermione Dalca. And yes, I have. The Headmaster was going to put the announcement out once everyone’s settled it. The wedding will be here, during the Halloween Feast.”

“Samhain is an excellent time for a bonding ceremony.” The shorter one smiled. “I’m Lucius Carrow by the way. Prof. Dumbledore is actually my second cousin on his father’s side and third on my mothers. Although, frankly, all the old families are so interrelated these days it’s hard to find even halfbloods that aren’t somehow connected.” He was wearing the Headboy badge but a Slytherin school tie. “I forget exactly how it all works out. The Dumbledores have been wizarding _forever_. Caused quite a stir when the old man married that muggleborn witch.” His words were said lightly and without the malice Hermione would have expected. “Mum still talks about it.” He went on, shaking his head. “Why she cares I have no idea.”

Hermione shook his hand hesitantly. “My mama was muggleborn.”

Lucius shrugged. “Hardly matters these days, at least not to must of us. Last I heard there were only about 30 families that could still qualify as ‘pureblood’.”

“Your’s is one.” Flavious reminded him, his tone slightly bitter. “It’s easy to say it doesn’t matter when you aren’t the one getting the dirty looks.” Flavious sneered. “I should warn you,” he continued, turning to Hermione. “Belby’s got a real thing for magical inheritance and all that. Mind you, she’s as halfblood same as me, but the way she acts you think she’s descended from Salazar himself.” 

“Alfred Prince.” The last one spoke up quietly, setting his bag down next to Hermione. “And Flavious is right. Belby’s always been a weird duck. We try and stick together in here as much as we can. I know you’re technically part of the staff, but Belby will still be nasty if she feels like it.”

Hermione turned to look at him and her breath caught for a moment. This was obviously a relative of Severus’, given the size of his nose and the near identical lanky black hair. The boy seemed just as sullen as well.

He scowled. “None of us would be taking this class at all if our families didn’t practically demand it. Belby went to all our parents with some theory about us _having_ to be good at it – ‘it’s in the blood’ or some such nonsense.”

Hermione sighed. “Perhaps that is why she seems to dislike me. Papa’s parents were both muggleborn and since mama was as well…”

Lucius raised an eyebrow. “I would not tell her that.”

Alfred nodded. “I realize this may sound like strange advice coming from two Slytherin Purebloods, but Belby’s most defiantly a stickler for that kind of thing. Flavious is only here because his mother is a Lestrange and seer. Belby was hoping he’d show more promise.”

“Not likely.” Flavious snorted. “I’m good with the basics, but she tried me in the Chamber once and I couldn’t so much as get it to glow. None of us can.”

“It has to like you.” Hermione supplied softly. The others turned to her in shock. She shrugged. “I’ve not been in _this_ one, but I have used a chamber.”

Lucius whistled. “Can we watch you? I mean, if it’s safe. Belby’s the only one at the school that can use it, and she refuses to allow spectators.”

“She won’t let me.” Hermione sighed. “Albus asked her and she said no.”

“Why?” Flavious asked. 

Hermione was about to say she didn’t know when the door opened with a bang and professor Belby stormed in.

“Enough. I want to see what you’ve managed over the summer.” She flicked her wand at the board and an advanced arithmantic chart appeared. “Who can tell me what this is attempting to predict?”

Hermione’s hand was up before she even realized what she was doing. It took her a moment to realize the others were staring and she lowered it slowly. Apparently her penitent for hand waving had not dissipated.

“Dalca?” Belby sneered. “There’s no way you have the answer. You haven’t even dissected it yet – your parchment isn’t even out.”

Hermione bristled. “It’s the formula to predict tonight’s dinner.” She tried to keep her tone even but it sounded a little defensive even to her. “The answer is roast duck by the way.”

Belby’s jaw dropped. Alfred snorted and Flavious grinned behind his hand.

“She just did that in her _head_.” Lucius whispered, to no one in particular.

Belby’s nostrils flared. “I do not tolerate know-it-alls.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow. “Was I wrong?”

Belby scowled. “How did you get a hold of my lesson plan?”

“I didn’t.” Hermione denied heatedly. “Why don’t you give me another so I can prove it?”

Belby waved her wand in agitation and the board cleared, another chart popping up.

Hermione studied the board for a moment before carefully answering. “Next Tuesday’s weather. It will rain with a probability of 98%.” Hermione frowned at the chart. “Although, if you tweak that last part of the equation it would give a more accurate reading….” Hermione waved her hand and the runes that made up the last part of the equation shifted from the agrippan forms to the chaldean. “Ah. That’s better. It will _not _rain, at least on Tuesday. We’ll have a bit of a drizzle Monday night, but it will let up around five minutes before midnight and we’ll have a pretty bad thunderstorm that hits about 2am on Wednesday. Having the day framed by water was making it appear that it would rain _on_ Tuesday, but if we adjust for the lunar shift…” Hermione stopped talked at the expression of hatred that had appeared on Belby’s face.__

__“15 Gallons says she’s right.” Flavious intoned and Lucius shook his head._ _

__“Not betting against her.” Alfred agreed quietly._ _

__Belby seethed for a moment before her eyes took a cruel glint. “Dumbledore said you wanted access to the chamber. Have you ever used one?”_ _

__Hermione nodded. “Yes,” she replied cautiously. “I have.”_ _

__Belby smiled, her lip curling dangerously. “Then why don’t we see what you can do with mine?”_ _


	16. The Chamber

“You should have seen her! I’ve never seen a student do something like that!” A voice exitedly gushed in the hallway and Albus lifted his head from the paper he was reading. His seventh year NEWT level students were coming in. The voice belonged to Flavious Tremlett and Albus realized with a start that he must be talking about Hermione. The boy had just come from his double arithmancy class and she was the only witch in it. 

Flavious entered the room followed by an equally excited Lucius Carrow, Alfred Prince, and their rapt audience of fellow transfiguration classmates. Alfred nodded at something Flavious said and gestured broadly. “It lite up as soon as she stepped in! Belby did something, I think it was to increase the power level or something, and Dalca just raised an eyebrow and then…”

“Boom!” Lucius smiled broadly. “She went up in the air! Like a _real_ arithmancer. I mean, I’ve _read_ about it happening, but I never thought I’d _see_ it. Especially not with a student doing - even if she is in a funny half-staff status.”

“Neither did Belby if the expression on her face was anything to go by.” Flavious chuckled darkly and set his bag down. “It was priceless! She’d been expecting Dalca to fail miserably and when she cranked up the power I thought she might actually be trying to hurt her.”

“Belby’s a professor!” A portly Gryffindor girl by the name of Mariam Weatherby protested. “She couldn’t have.”

Lucius sneered. “Trust me. Belby wasn’t doing it to be _nice_. You don’t mess about with a chamber like that. If Dalca hadn’t known what she was doing, the magical field could have fried her.”

“Then what happened?” Marcus Yaxley asked breathlessly.

Flavious giggled. “Dalca channeled all that energy and activated the chamber. Runes were swirling all over the place, the rings were whirling, and she was just floating in the middle of it – looked like she was dancing.”

“Her eyes were closed,” Alfred added. “She was concentrating really hard. I couldn’t figure out what she was trying to calculate, but she wasn’t just dissipating the energy. She was _using_ the chamber. She had this odd little smile, like she was _enjoying_ it a little too much.”

“Belby tried to shut it down.” Lucius shook his head. “But she couldn’t get past the protective circle once the chamber was active. She was _not_ expecting that girl to get it working.”

Albus stood up quickly and walked over to the group. The students parted, guilty expressions on their faces. “Is she alright? Is Hermione alright?” He asked worriedly.

Flavious smiled softly. “Yes, professor. Your intended is fine. Belby, on the other hand…” 

Lucius chuckled darkly. “When she couldn’t get the chamber to power down, she tried to force her way past the rings to yank your fiancé out. I’m not sure if it was the chamber, or Dalca, but Belby was thrown clean out of there. Split her head on the wall across from the chamber. Dalca finished whatever it is she was doing, powered the chamber down, and then took Belby to the infirmary. She looked mad enough to make a Dark Lord piss his robes and the residual magic from the chamber was crackling around her like a lightening storm.” Lucius’ eyes danced and Albus narrowed his eyes at the boy. Apparently the young man had enjoyed seeing Hermione in such a state and Albus did not want a Carrow getting any _ideas_ , not with their family reputation. 

“She said to tell you Belby would be fine.” Alfred added, catching his professor’s dark look and trying to change the subject. “Although, I don’t think that would be the case if Hermione got her way.” He added, with an almost apologetic grimace. 

Albus took a calming breath. “Alright, thank you. Why don’t you all take your seats?”  
He turned and headed back up to the front and the class slowly filed to their seats, still talking under their breaths about what had happened.

Albus some how managed to make it through the lesson but his mind was only half on his students. Luckily, his 7th year NEWT level class would mostly be working on independent projects until after the holidays, so he set them to researching possible topics.

What was the matter with Belby? Her attitude towards Hermione had been adversarial from the start. Albus could tell that it bothered Hermione, especially after the poor girl had been so excited to talk to the arithmancy professor at dinner. Albus had been fairly good at the subject as a boy, but he’d never had enough talent to work the chamber. He’d gotten the runes to light, but he’d never managed to actually engage the magics enough to do anything with it. When Hermione told him she’d spent a fair amount of time in the chamber during her fifth and sixth year, he’d been shocked. As far as he was aware, only 7th years ever had access, and only then under intense supervision. The chamber was dangerous in untrained hands and if someone wasn’t properly prepared to handle the power surges it could kill a foolish arithmancer. Belby should never have tried to increase the power with a student she was unfamiliar with inside. 

The fact that Hermione had been able to properly chancel the power surge, and had apparently fully merged with the chamber, was beside the point. Each chamber was different, and had Hermione really been a homeschooled witch with no previous experience with the Hogwarts chamber, the professor was almost guaranteed to have caused her injury – or worse. 

Albus had a free period after the 7th years and he hurried to the infirmary. Dippet was there talking in hushed tones to a pale Hermione when he arrived.

“Albus!” She cried when she saw him and he hurried to her, pulling her into a fast embrace that was only partly for show. 

“Are you alright?” He asked, his face pressed into her hair. He could smell the residual magic in it and feel the tickle of unspent potential in the wild strands. They practically crackled with energy.

Hermione pulled away slightly and grimaced. “I’m fine, really. I don’t know what Prof. Belby thought she was doing. She challenged me to see if I could actually power up the chamber, after all her talk about not letting me near it. I went in, and I was just starting the breathing exercises to try and align with the chamber when she activated one of the runic sequences that pulls in the ambient power from the lay web.”

Albus only partially understood that, but he nodded for her to go on.

Hermione shivered. “There are safety protocols to stop that from happening. She had to have over ridden them! If I hadn’t been able to instantly dive into the stream, it would have caused a massive power build up inside the chamber. It could have killed me – would have killed me.”

“Heather couldn’t have meant to do that.” Dippet argued, clearly distressed. “She’s only been here a few years and is still getting used to having a chamber all to herself. She’s been an Arithmancy Master with the Guild for some time, but she’s used to the newer chambers at the Ministry. Perhaps this older one doesn’t work the same.”

“No.” Hermione insisted. “Any Master would know that you do not, under any circumstances, increase the magical draw of a chamber from the _outside_ with an unbalanced number of arithmancers – and without warning. We told her I had experience in a chamber, but she never discussed it with me. She had no way to know that I could do what I did. I know she was angry with me for getting her questions right in class and wanted to trip me up, but that was inexcusable.”

“Perhaps we should contact the guild.” Albus offered softly, his arm still protectively around Hermione. He could feel her vibrating with wild magic and adrenaline. “Either the chamber malfunctioned or Prof. Belby made an error of some kind.”

“I agree.” Filius spoke up gravely from behind them. He entered the infirmary with a grim expression. “I inspected the chamber as you asked Headmaster. I’m no Master arithmancer, but Hermione is correct. It’s clear the runic protections that would normally prevent outside interference in the inner chamber were magically bypassed. I’m not sure what Belby did, or why, but she’s been making modifications to the chamber for some time. There are extra runes present in the outer mechanism that were not there prior to her taking over as instructor.”

“I couldn’t properly power it down either.” Hermione complained. “I would normally have dissipated any excess energy back into the school wards but I couldn’t access them. The chamber isn’t connected to the larger magical grid of the school anymore. That’s why I had to absorb so much of it.” As if to prove her point a curl rose from her head and a small bolt of magical energy discharged from it into a stone block on the other side of the room. Hermione sighed. “See? I’m practically a walking a power plant at the moment. It’s going to take me hours to discharge all this without direct access to a proper runic conductor. I’ve never trained to carry this much power outside of a contained environment– it’s like ants crawling all through my veins.” She shivered violently as another bolt of energy flew off her erratically, nearly taking out Albus on it’s way towards the stone. 

Dippet frowned. “That at least I can help with. Why don’t you come with me to the warding stone and I can help you discharge the energy directly into the school’s battery. At least that way it won’t go to waste or injure someone. Albus, can you contact the Arithmancy Guild and see if they can send someone? Heather is still unconscious from her head wound and the nurse doesn’t want to risk waking her with magic. We need to know what happened. If the chamber is damaged it could be a risk to the school. That chamber is sitting on the fault lines of three very powerful magical lays. If they’ve become unstable we could be at risk of a disaster.”

“Of course.” Albus agreed, reluctantly stepping back from Hermione. “Will you be all right?”

She smiled gently. “Yes, of course. I’ve channeled more power than this before, I’ve just always been able to siphon it off before I left the chamber. I was in control the entire time, don’t worry.” She frowned. “It’s just, there was no way for Belby to know that I could handle such a rapid influx.” She leaned forward to press a kiss to his check and then moved surreptitiously to his ear under the pretext of a farewell embrace. “Albus,” She whispered worriedly. “I have no idea what’s going on, but there is something seriously wrong with this. It was _not_ an accident and there’s nothing actually wrong with the chamber. Those mortifications were done intentionally.” She pulled away, her eyes flickering with agitation, before she schooled her features and turned to follow Dippet. 

Albus watched Dippet lead Hermione away before he turned questioningly to Filius.

“I don’t know, Albus.” The small wizard shook his head in confusion. “Hermione is right. There’s something very very odd about this entire incident. Let’s hope the representative from the Guild will be able to provide insight.”

 

The Guild sent a representative as soon as Albus explained the situation. Magnus Lestrange was a nearly two hundred year old Master Arithmancer who rarely left his ancestral manor in the remote corner of the Isle of Wight that his family had called home for near a millennia. The Lestrange manor was home to one of the few private Arithmantic Chambers left in Britain and it dated from the same time period as the Hogwarts chamber. As such, he was the closest to an expert the Guild had. If there was a problem with their chamber, Lestrange would find it.

The wizard carefully inspected the outer and inner rings of the chamber and interviewed Hermione and the three students that had witnessed the incident. Dippet, Filius, and Albus all gathered to watch as Lestrange finally stepped inside to test the working runic mechanisms. The chamber runes lighted as soon as he was inside and Albus watched in fascination as the elderly wizard closed his eyes, his breathing entering a rhythmic pattern as he began to tap into the dormant lay lines beneath their feet. The chamber slowly powered up, the runes glowing brighter in a steady manor until they pulsed with energy. He rose slowly into the air and hung suspended in the middle for several long moments before he gestured and the concentric rings began to move. He ran a few test calculations through the chamber before he let out a slow even breath and came down again. He frowned when his feet touched down and the runes did not stop their glow. He made another complicated gesture and the air crackled. There was a loud bang and a funny hum before the runes went dark.

“That was very odd.” Lestrange muttered. He stepped outside the chamber and put his hand to the wall. A spark of energy flew from his palm into the stone and he shook his left food until another energy of ball came out the toe of his shoe to disappear into the floor. “Very odd indeed.”

“What is it?” Dippet asked anxiously. 

“The girl is correct.” Lestrange glared back at the chamber. “Belby has modified the chamber so that it collects more magical energy then is needed for the arithmancy that should be taking place in there. This is a school chamber. It should never be powered to that capacity. Furthermore, she’s by passed the safety protocols so that the power level can be increased from outside the main chamber. The only reason to do that is if more then one arithmancer is working on a calculation. When the Guild requires that, we typically meet at the Henge. There isn’t enough physical room in this chamber to call a full Guild Circle.”

Filius shook his head. “I vaguely recall that a circle of five used the chamber once when I was a lad. One inside the chamber, and four in the outer spectator ring. They did something so that the four outside could feed power to the center fifth.”

“Yes.” Lestrange agreed. “I was one of the five and we used this chamber because we were working on a calculation to pick the next Headmaster and being on the grounds increased our accuracy.” He frowned. “It was very cramped and we nearly burned out the runes from the power overload.” He shook his head. “Regardless, there should always be an odd number of participants. One inside, and an even group outside. This chamber can’t handle more than five. It wasn’t built to. The Henge can take a full 13. But I tell you there’s no reason to have altered this chamber for such a thing! There are only four students in the NEWT class, and with the exception of this Dalca witch, none of them have the ability to activate the chamber. Belby would have had no one to work with. Even if she did, there was no reason to externally boost the power with Dalca in there. Having only one arithmancer outside feeding power destabilized the entire chamber and caused massive power fluctuations. If Dalca hadn’t kept her wits the entire thing could have imploded. It’s a wonder she’s alive!”

He growled darkly and thrust his hand out to the wall to dissipate another ball of magical energy. “Furthermore, she’s meddled with the runic discharge paths. I was bathed in far more magical energy then I should have been with no way to properly power the chamber down. I had to take in the energy…” he huffed and discharged another ball. “It’s going to take me hours to let it all off safety. It’s no wonder you had to take Dalca to the warding stones, Headmaster. I’m surprised the poor girl wasn’t fried. This is not something an amateur should be exposed to. My guess is Dalca’s had some experience with using arithmancy stones or she wouldn’t have been able to do it at all.”

Albus drew in a quick breath and Lestrange turned to him, his expression softening. “Why don’t we have a look at your intended?” He asked softly. “I want to make sure she’s no worse for the wear. I don’t know what chamber that witch has been using – I wasn’t aware that any were left in Romania that weren’t under Grindelwald’s control – but she’s had to have spent _hours_ practicing to have been able to manage as well as she did.”

“Can you fix the chamber?” Dippet asked urgently.

“It’s not broken.” Lestrange admitted. “It’s only been modified. It’s not exactly _wrong_. I’ve had my own chamber modified in exactly this way before – but only when I was training a triad and intentionally attempting to create a feedback loop.”

Albus didn’t know what that meant but Filius’ indrawn breath told him the small wizard did. He turned to him in question.

Filius frowned deeply. “A feedback loop in a chamber would create a very powerful arithmantic singularity – a sort of stable bubble of potentiality. A Master Arithmancer can use it to test out a vast number of calculates at once. The chamber goes into a sort of automated process, and the triad of arithmancers merge with it for the duration. It’s quite advanced and it would take at least one master and two very advanced apprentices to accomplish.”

“I haven’t had cause to do it in decades.” Lestrange confessed. “And while it’s not nearly as powerful as the loop that a full 13 can create, it’s not something I would ever expect to see done here. My personal chamber is quite a bit more powerful than the Hogwarts one. The Founders wanted a chamber, but this was intended to be a school. They had no reason to add the reinforcements to this that are in place on mine. If Belby powered the chamber to full capacity with an trained triad and even one of the three faltered – at any point – the magical backlash would not only kill them and destroy the chamber, but it could take out the entire castle. The ripples through the lay lines could devastate most of the area as well. Hogsmeade would be annihilated.”

Dippet’s eyes grew large. “Whatever could she have been attempting?”

“I don’t know.” Lestrange sighed. “But I want to take a look at the girl first – check on her condition. Then I will see what Belby has to say for herself. You were very lucky that she put the girl in there and tried whatever it is she did. If she hadn’t, Dalca wouldn’t have caught what was happening in time to warn us. Belby hasn’t finished all the modifications necessary to fully open the magical lays, but she’s terribly close. If she’d had another month or two…” he left the rest unsaid.

Albus followed the group as they briskly moved towards Hermione’s chamber. Whatever Belby had been planning it left a cold feeling in his bones.


	17. Circle of 9

Albus knocked on Hermione’s door. When he received no response he turned to Dippet. “Did she say she was returning to her rooms after you finished with the warding stone and talked to Lestrange?”

Dippet frowned concernedly. “She looked like death warmed over. I told her to rest before she fainted. I even called an elf to escort her.” He looked up. “Lanky!” He called. 

A young female house-elf wearing what looked like a discarded flour sack popped into being. “Yes, headmaster?” She asked in a small voice.

“Did Mrs. Dalca make it back to her rooms?”

The small elf nodded vigorously. “Oh yes, headmaster! Lanky make sure. Lanky always take good care of her Miss Hermione.”

Albus frowned and knocked louder. “Hermione, open up please. Mr. Lestrange has a few more questions.”

When that elicited no response he knelt down till he was eye level with the tiny elf. “Lanky, can you open Hermione’s door for me? I’m worried she might be ill and I know I will not be able to easily deactivate her wards. She was scared this morning and I can feel that she’s added extra protections.”

Lanky twisted her hands nervously. “Lanky doesn’t think Mistress Hermione wants visitors if Mistress Hermione puts up extra wards.”

Albus smiled gently. “Hermione keyed her regular wards to me, I’m sure you can feel that can’t you?” The elf nodded hesitatingly. “I wasn’t here when she put up the new ones today, or she’d have keyed them too. She trusts me, Lanky – she’s agreed to marry me.”

“Oh yes.” Lanky agreed. “Mistress Hermione talks all about its with Lanky. She spends lots of time with the elves.” Lanky’s ears dropped. “She has only Master Dumbledore and Master Flitwick that knows her. She is sad and misses her lost mate. Miss Hermione all alone…” The little elf’s eyes were wide with tears.

“I know.” Albus reached a hand out to Lanky’s shoulder. “But you forgot, she has you now. You’re a good friend to her, aren’t you? Just like a proper house-elf would be to a real mistress in a big manor. And your mistress needs your help.”

Lanky’s chest puffed out. “Like a _real_ elf? With a _family_?” She glared at the door. “Master Dumbledore only.” She agreed suddently, grabbing ahold of his hand. With a harsh tug he found himself abruptly on the other side of the door. 

“Thank you, Lanky.” He breathed out as he took in the sight before him. Hermione was hovering in midair, a set of nine glowing stones were swirling in a sphere around her. Lanky’s eyes went large at the sight. 

Albus whispered softly. “I need the others, Lanky. I don’t know if she’s in trouble or not, but she doesn’t seem to know we are here and that man out there is a Master Arithmancer…”

Lanky nodded slowly. “Yes, Master Dumbledore.” She snapped her fingers, never taking her eyes of Hermione, and the door swung slowly open.

Lestrange made a small sound of shock when he caught sight of her and he motioned for everyone to stay back. He reached out slowly and took the sleeve of Albus’ robe to pull him back out of the room. “Come away.” He whispered. “You do not want to distract her.”

Albus moved out of the room and Lestrange cast a low level spell over the open doorway to hide their voices. “She’s using a set of arithmantic stones. We must not startle her.”

Dippet peaked around the door. “I’ve read about those, but I’ve not seen them.”

Lestrange nodded, his mouth turned down. “They are exceptionally rare. I can’t believe this girl has managed to come by a set. From our conversation earlier, I gathered she’s naturally predisposed towards the chaldean method, but there are nine stones, which is a hallmark of the agrippan. That means the entire thing is slightly off balanced from the start. She has to concentrate twice as hard to keep it stable. Wherever she acquired them, they are not inherited, or they would match her natural method of use – there would only be eight. It’s a testament to her skill that she’s even able to use stones that aren’t aligned to her family. Of course, if she’s had them long enough they may have adjusted themselves to match her magic.” 

Filius nodded gravely. “Stones are not nearly as accurate as a chamber, and they are far more difficult to control. Since they don’t rely on the lay lines, you have to be able to pull from ambient magical energies to power them and if you aren’t careful they can drain your personal reserves. You also don’t have the runic protections that keep the energy contained so if you loose control you damage anything near you. I can see that she’s been adding in protections onto this room for some time, woven into the stones.” He pointed out several warding rune combinations and signs of other charms to contain magical energies. “If we break her concentration she could loose control of the stones. It wouldn’t be nearly as bad as if the chamber blew, but she could easily land all of us in the hospital wing if we were inside the blast radius.”

Dippet looked alarmed. “And she has these at a school?”

Lestrange smirked. “She knows how to use them, Dippet. She’s not an amateur, I’ll give her that. I don’t care if she’s not taken a NEWT, she’s a born arithmancer if I ever saw one. This just proves it. She’s raw, but she’s focused. I backed us out as precaution, not because I think we’re in real danger. The added protections she put on the room would hold any accidents. As long as we are out here we’re safe.”

“Is _she_ safe?” Albus whispered worriedly.

Lestrange smiled. “Ah, young love. Yes, she’s fine. The benefit to the stones is that if they destabilize the explosion is always outward. A chamber tends to implode. They may be less powerful, but as far as the safety of the arithmancer goes, stones are preferable. In fact, in our family we always start our children with our stones before we even think about moving them into the chamber. The worst that can happen to her is she drains her personal reserves to the point that she’s unable to do magic until she can recharge them. Based on how fast those are spinning, she’s tapped into the castle’s energies. Having her discharge that residual magic into the warding stone earlier probably let her get a feel for the ambient magic in the castle. She’s probably more in tune with the castle at the moment then any of us, with the exception of the Headmaster.”

They watched her for several minutes until the air seemed to vibrate. The stone’s glow softened and she sank slowly to the ground. Her feet touched and the light of the stones went dark. Albus bolted through the door as Hermione gave a small gasp and collapsed in a pile, the stones clattering down around her.

“Hermione!” He cried, Lanky rushing to her side with him. The small elf squeaked and grabbed her hand, a jolt of energy transferring from elf to witch. Hermione inhaled sharply at the touch and lurched awake.

“Lanky?” She asked in confusion. “What?” Hermione caught sight of the others and sagged into Albus’ arms. “Ah…” she sighed. “I take it you needed to talk to me?”

“Are you alright?” Albus asked worriedly. 

Hermione chuckled tiredly. “I’m fine, that always happens after a long session.” She turned to Lanky. “Thank you, Lanky. That jolt helped immensely. Did you let Albus in?”

Lanky nodded, her ears dropping. “Lanky iron hands…?”

“No.” Hermione stated firmly, reaching out to pat Lanky on the head. “Albus is always welcome. Just, next time, check if I’m using the stones and if I am, please wait till I’m done, okay? It can get nasty if I’m shocked out of concentrating.”

Lanky nodded, her eyes bright and disappeared with a pop.

Hermione gave a violent shiver and her eyes squeezed tight as a wave of pain washed through her. Albus grasped her tighter in alarm.

“Hermione?” 

She panted for a moment before pulling herself up into a seated position, leaning into him for support. “Sorry, I should have warned you about that.” She grimaced and clutched his arm as another spasm shook her. “It’s just a bit of a side effect from the Cruciatus. I shouldn’t have tried using the stones after channeling so much energy in the chamber – not so soon since my last time under the curse.”

Lestrange stepped forward and kneeled down next to them, his expression dark. “You’ve been under Cruciatus? Recently?”

Hermione nodded and took slow, steady breaths. “Yes, several times. Last was just days before I arrived here.” She sagged as another wave passed. “Wasn’t for long, but every time it happens it takes a little longer to recover.”

“It’s been months since you arrived.” Dippet sounded both shocked and concerned. “When you told me you had internal damage from it, I had no idea it was so recent or so pronounced. How many times have you suffered it?”

Hermione motioned for Albus to help her up. He gripped her arm tightly and helped her to stand, Lestrange taking her other arm. Together they guided her to a chair by the fireplace. Lestrange waved his wand and a brisk fire took up in the hearth as Albus laid a blanket over her. She smiled gratefully at them.

“Honestly I lost count.” Hermione sighed as she leaned back, the warmth from the fire and the blanket soothing her strained muscles. “I’ll be fine, really. The Cruciatus burns along the same energy paths that I have to use to channel off the arithmantic magics. If they haven’t healed from the curse it’s like pouring salt water on a burn.”

Lestrange brought her a cup of water and gently helped her drink, her hands were shacking too much to hold the cup. “That is an understatement if I ever heard it. It’s a wonder you weren’t on the floor screaming in agony inside the chamber this morning. Whatever possessed you to attempt high level arithmancy before you were fully recovered?”

Hermione smiled and patted his arm in thanks. “I had to know if I could trust you. I’m sorry to say, but I’ve had rather bad luck with Purebloods over the years. And with Belby…”

Lestrange raised an eyebrow. “So I take it the stones told you I wasn’t in league with Grindelwald?”

“Yes.” Hermione confirmed before her expression turned dark. “But I can’t say the same for Belby.” She turned to Albus and reached for him. “You need to call the aurors, Albus. Belby’s been working for Gellert. I’m sure of it. If they question her under truth serum they can find out why.”

Filius inhaled sharply. “I’ll call them and get Merrythought. We’ll secure her until they come.” He turned to Dippet. “With your permission, headmaster?”

“Of course.” Dippet agreed, sinking down onto a chair in shock. “Are you sure?” He asked softly.

“Yes.” Hermione leaned her head back and let her eyes close. “I couldn’t figure out her motives. I’d need the full chamber for that and there was no way I could handle another dose of energy like I did this morning without paying a very high price. The stones were less accurate, and still something of a risk, but I was able to at least pin point the most likely scenarios. It was clear. Whatever she’s doing, it was to aid Grindelwald.”

Lestrange growled lowly. “That foolish ignorant puppy is out to destroy everything. I’ll be the first to agree that wizards are superior to muggles, but the statue of secrecy is a necessity! No matter how much it pains me, they out number us. Even if we instituted a brutal dictatorship, they’d fight back. Look at what happened in Egypt before the fall! They killed off nearly every wizard there back in the day. It’s one of the primary reasons we went underground!”

Albus sighed softly. “Gellert has his reasons, and trust me – they sound rather logical at first. It isn’t until you dig deeper that the insanity becomes apparent. Belby must have been taken in by his charm.”

Hermione moaned softly in response and Albus frowned. “We should get her to St. Mungos.”

“There’s nothing they can do.” Lestrange admitted. “There aren’t any treatments for Cruciatus and magical overload. She knew what she was doing when she activated the stones and she was willing to suffer for it.” He sounded grudgingly respectful as he said it. “The best we can do is keep her warm and give her a muscle relaxant potion and something for the pain. She’ll be sore for a few days but she’ll recover.” He moved over to the stones and eyed them curiously. “These are the Malfoy stones…”

Hermione turned her head and opened her eyes, a look of alarm in them. Lestrange turned back to her and stared hard for a moment before he bent down and picked them up. He brought them to her and placed them carefully in her lap. “It was you.” He whispered. “We all felt it, every arithmancer across Britain. You shifted _everything_ , every calculation we had suddenly became irrelevant.”

Albus held his breath nervously, but Lestrange said nothing else, instead turning to the headmaster. “Armando, there’s nothing more you can do here. Why don’t you go and check on Belby and see if the aurors are here? I’ll stay with Albus and the girl. I’ll remain at the castle for a few days and see if I can reverse the modifications to the chamber.”

Dippet stood up shakily. “Who will I find to teach arithmancy now? It’s so hard to get a qualified guild member, and Belby being a Master….”

Lestrange sighed. “I am sure I will regret this, but I’d be willing to stay on for a while. I need to see what nonsense she might have been feeding the students.” He looked over to Hermione and smirked. “Besides, when this lady here finishes her NEWTS in the spring she’ll be more then qualified to take over. Providing you can keep her from the wrong end of another Cruciatus long enough to be presented to the Guild.”

Dippet’s expression cleared. “Yes! Albus, your wife will already be here! And if the Guild approves of her placement…”

“Not a problem.” Lestrange agreed readily. “When she’s recovered I’ll see how she is in the chamber and I’ll have her Guild tested. She’s at least good enough for admittance as a basic arithmancer. She may be Master material. I won’t know until we formally evaluate her.”

“That will have to wait.” Hermione sighed heavily, her head lulling dangerously. “It will take me at least 6 months before I can go near a chamber or the stones again. What healing I’d managed to do I’ve just undone.”

Albus tensed. “Was it worth it?”

“I had to know.” Hermione whispered softly, pitching her voice so only Albus could hear her. “The Lestranges, they are one of the most powerful arithmancy lines in the wizarding world.” She closed her eyes painfully. “And it was a Lestrange that first put me under the Cruciatus.” She opened her eyes slowly. “I never meet this one, but his family and I have, or will have, a _painful_ association. I had to know if he would be an ally or an enemy.”

Albus eyed the elderly pureblood with distrust. “Are you sure he’s trustworthy?”

“In this, yes.” Hermione shivered hard. “He hates Grindelwald, but he’s a pureblood elitist Slytherin. We can only trust him so far. His real loyalty is to the arithmancy guild and to his House.” Hermione’s hand weakly clutched the stones. “And he knows I have the Malfoy stones, he’ll need an answer to why.” Hermione waved weakly towards her worn beaded purse where it rested next to her wand. “Albus, can you…”

He retrieved it and handed it to her. She opened it carefully and reached in to pull out several small bottles before placing the stones inside. She downed the contents and sighed in relief before tying the purse back into place on her belt. “Just the potions Mr. Lestrange mentioned.” She explained at Albus’ questioning look.

“You should get her into her bed.” Lestrange suggested. “I have many questions, young lady.” He admonished, “But you need rest or you’re likely to have a full episode. The last thing I want to deal with is near mudblood messing herself from Cruciatus tremors at my feet.”

“Good to know you have standards.” She quipped as Albus carefully transferred her from the chair to her bed. “In my experience most purebloods are perfectly happy to watch me loose my bowels at their feet.”

“Never could stand the smell.’ Lestrange replied lightly. 

Albus didn’t know what to say in response to this exchange and was shocked when Hermione laughed tiredly. “Ah, pureblood humor. Never changes.” Her eyes drifted shut and she went limp.

“Good, she’s asleep.” Lestrange sighed. “I must go and secure the chamber. I suggest you stay and watch her. If she starts to seizure call for me immediately.”

“You seem to know a terrible lot about the Cruciatus an how it effects arithmancers.” Albus questioned darkly.

Lestrange’s eyes narrowed and his look went far away. “I was trained the old way, Dumbledore. In my family, we learned to control the chamber under penalty of harsh punishment. I know exactly what she’s feeling.” He looked down at her, his expression turning to pity. “It takes a great deal of perseverance to fight though the pain to control a set of stones so soon after being cursed. I am…reluctantly impressed.”

“She does tend to do that to a person.” Albus agreed softly. “I just wish she’d never had to learn such skills.”


	18. Between the Shadow and the Light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'm totally ripping off Babylon 5 here -shamelessly. Still not a crossover by ANY means, but I'm stealing concepts, and chapter titles, liberally. 
> 
> The words used here are in Welsh. I did not translate them because, frankly, if you want to know their exact meaning you can Google them and since Snape IS my fav character, I feel in his honor you should work for it. :) That said, you won't need to actually know where the names come from anyway. I just needed to name things and it seemed symbolically cool. No, I don't speak Welsh, I totally used the internet. Any Welsh speakers that would like to correct me, I'm happy to edit it. Hopefully sine I only used two words tied together it can't be that bad...

Hermione slept for nearly 13 hours. When she awoke, both Albus and Lestrange were sitting in her room. Lanky was watching them from a perch on the nightstand and when Hermione reached for the glass of water the little elf crawled onto the bed to help her take a slow drink.

“I believe Lanky is rather fond of you.” Albus said softly. “If Armando isn’t careful, Hogwarts will lose an elf. They only come here when their original families die off, you know, and they are free to choose a new one if they like.”

Lanky actually glared at him. “Lanky go with Miss Hermione now. Lanky find _family_. Master Dumbledore not talk Mistress into denying Lanky.”

Lestrange chuckled. “You gave her the idea, Albus. You should have known that any elf attached here would jump at the chance to serve a family again.”

Hermione frowned. “Hogwarts elves are in a kind of elf limbo – they serve, which they like, but they don’t _belong_. I know most of them miss their families dreadfully. But Lanky,” she turned to the little elf and took the creatures hands in hers. “You don’t want to go with me, do you? Here you’re free. If you go with me, you’ll be bound to my line and since you’ll outlive me, you may end up serving someone you don’t like. And you’ll be stuck. Your children will be stuck.”

Lanky shook her head. “Lanky was born at Hogwarts, but Lanky’s mother talked all about having a family. Made Lanky promise that if Lanky found worthy family, Lanky would bond.” The little elf sat down next to Hermione and seemed to cuddle into the witch. Hermione’s arm wrapped around the creature instinctively and the elf let out a contented sigh. “Miss Hermione is worthy – so Lanky bonded. Lanky serve Miss Hermione and Miss Hermione’s family and there is nothing Master Dumbledore can do to stop it.” The little elf glared until Albus held his hands up in surrender.

“I’d no intention of stopping it, Lanky.” He said softly, smiling at the small creature as his eyes twinkled. “In fact, I welcome it. My family had a house-elf once, long ago.” His voice turned slightly wistful. “I missed her terribly when she passed. We used to spend hours together when I was a child and visiting my grandmother’s cottage.”

“I’m afraid there wouldn’t be much for you much to do.” Hermione admitted softly. “There’s just me for now, and Albus after we’re married.”

“They will be little ones.” Lanky assured her. “You tell Headmaster no, but Lanky knows things. At least one baby, masters plotting.” She nodded, her eyes narrowing. “And Lanky will take special care with little one. Oh yes.”

Albus raised an eyebrow and Hermione looked sheepish. “I may have mentioned that we were thinking of adopting…”

“I’d suggest putting a tag on the school register.” Lestrange offered. “Mark it to notify you if a child with magical ability is born and given up for adoption. You won’t find one in the wizarding world that hasn’t already been bought by one of the old families, but you may get lucky and a mudblood will turn up somewhere in the muggle world.”

“That…that’s actually a good idea.” Albus supplied, sounding startled. “You sound like you know from experience? Is that how they are doing it these days?”

Lestrange waved his hand dismissively. “Happens frequently. Hardly anyone will admit to it, of course, but some nameless young witch gets in a bad way and a family will pay her off for the babe. After the magical adoption you can’t tell the child wasn’t born to them naturally and the blood magics practically overwrite any blood impurities. If a family can’t afford to do it that way they used to kidnap a mudblood from some unsuspecting muggle family, but nowadays with the Ministry’s new laws _protecting_ them, you have to do it legally.” he said it as if he detested the very notion. “Shame really. The infants would have been raised properly in a pureblood household and given that status. Now they end up suffering under their muggle heritage. Dippet’s been reluctant to let anyone near the blasted register for fear of such things, but I’m sure he knows you aren’t going to kill the parents just to have the child declared an orphan so you can legally adopt it.”

“I don’t suppose you know of anybody who did just that.” Albus accused. 

Lestrange said nothing, but smiled darkly.

“Boys,” Hermione called. “Can we return to the more urgent matter of Belby and the chamber?”

Albus’ expression turned even darker. “By the time Filius got to the infirmary she was gone. She cursed the nurse and fled. The aurors are looking for her, but I wouldn’t hold out hope. If she was working with Gellert she’ll be safe behind his lines by now.”

“Indeed.” Lestrange agreed. “What I would like to know is who was planning on working with her? She was modifying that chamber for a triad – which means she needed two experienced arithmancers in addition to herself. They would have spent the summer training together, getting used to working with one another in preparation for whatever calculation she was going to run. That means there are at least two more of us in league with Grindelwald. I’ve warned the Unspeakables but there are so few of us arithmancers left. If we can’t trust one another there’s little we can do. I can’t run the equations necessary by myself and if I call in others I run the risk of including one of her co-conspirators.”

“Isn’t there anybody else in the Lestrange family?” Hermione sat up straighter, Lanky still tucked into her side and gazing at her adoringly.

“No.” Lestrange admitted, his tone sorrowful. “There hasn’t been a true arithmancer born in my line since my grandson. Mortimer was sent to Azkaban nearly twenty years ago. Even if I could get a release for him, his mind would be in no condition to work a chamber.”

“I’m sorry.” Hermione offered gently. “What about the Malfoy’s or the Rosiers?”

“The talent is all but dead in the Malfoy line.” His eyes flickered to her purse. “The Rosiers and the Blacks have active arithmancers, but I don’t know any of the them well enough to trust them with this. I have reason to believe both family patriarchs may be in line with Grindelwald. I can run calculations on each person one by one but it will take some time. The irony is, if I could use the feedback loop from a triad I could easily figure out who we could trust. But to do that…”

Hermione grimaced. “And I am out of commission for months. Even if I wasn’t you’d still be one short.”

“What about your classmates?” Albus asked.

“Flavius is the strongest.” Hermione shook her head. “But he’s not robust enough to manage as a leg of the triad. You need three people that can merge with a chamber. Now, Filius could serve as a leg, but he wouldn’t be any help with the actual calculations.”

“His goblin blood would make stabilizing the power difficult – as would your tendency towards the chaldean.” Lestrange supplied grumpily. “I know you wish to help, but despite your natural talent you are not well enough trained to manage in a triad with an agrippan and a part-goblin. Frankly, I’m not sure I’ve enough skill to compensate for that degree of magical variant in tuning.”

“Then we will have to figure out a course of action without the benefit of forsight.” Albus sighed. “I have my contacts trying to trace all Belby’s known associates to see if we can figure out what exactly she was working on – and with whom. I would never have thought she would be in league with him.”

Hermione bit her lip. “I wouldn’t have thought so either.” She shared a meaningful look with Albus and his eyebrow rose.

“Right.” Lestrange interrupted, catching the exchange. “That settles it. I need to know what in Merlin’s name you are witch – because I’m strongly suspecting the impossible.” The elderly wizard glared hard. “You’ve _the_ set of Malfoy arithmantic stones that I know for a _fact_ are still in the display case in their east wing! You are _intimately_ acquainted with the Hogwarts chamber despite only arriving here in the late spring. And don’t even try to lie and say you trained in another similar chamber – there aren’t any similar to this one in Eastern Europe that Grindelwald hasn’t been in control over since you were in nappies. And just about the same time as you arrive here, every single arithmancer in the _world_ experienced a potentially shift the likes of which no one has felt since Morgana gave birth to Mordred! There’s even a wisp of death magic about you and I have heard strong reports from Hogsmeade that _something_ caused a very Dark magic surge near here less then a week before you turned up.”

Albus stood up, his magic crackling around him. “Now see here, Lestrange, you will not accuse my intended of Dark Magic!”

“Albus.” Hermione quietly spoke up. “It’s no good. We’ll have to tell him something.” 

Albus turned to her and silently asked if she was sure. Hermione nodded, resigned to it, and Albus sat back down slowly. Lanky, who had gone into a protective stance relaxed back down.

“Lanky,” Hermione spoke gently. “I realize you just bonded with me and would like to stay near, but I need to talk to Mr. Lestrange and Albus privately. Could you please get us some tea and leave for a bit?”

“Lanky not tell Mistress’ secrets.” The little elf tugged on her ears forlornly. “Does Mistress not know elves loyal?”

Hermione smiled sadly. “I know you would never intentionally do anything to harm or betray your family, Lanky. But I’ve known many an elf that found a way around that when they had to, or did something by accident.” Hermione patted the elf gently and Lanky leaned into her touch like a cat. “I trust you, even before you bonded with me. But this is something I can’t take any risks with. Please?”

“Lanky go.” The elf eyed both wizards with open hostility. “Lanky not like it, but Lanky go.” She snapped her fingers and a tea tray popped into being, landing with a clank on the bed but somehow not spilling a drop. The elf disappeared with a disgruntled sounding pop.

Hermione picked her wand up and added another layer of wards, her movements slower then usual but her magic still hummed with constrained power. Albus handed her a cup of tea and she leaned back against her headboard and sighed in resignation.

“I don’t trust you.” She spoke bluntly, her eyes trained on Lestrange. “I have every reason to ignore your questions and to turn you out of my rooms, except that I know you’ll cause trouble over my possession of the stones and I’d like to avoid getting the Guild or the Malfoy’s involved in this.”

“If you don’t explain to my satisfaction, I can guarantee you will loose the backing of the Guild – you and Dumbledore. And we both know you are going to need us if Belby’s been up to something sinister for that upstart troublemaker.” Lestrange reached for his own cup before leaning back calmly into his chair. “I may not know who I can trust at the moment, but I do know that if it comes down to the wire I can call a full panel of 13 to Henge and we can sort it out there. We’ll feel whoever is blocking us as soon as we link and we’ll be able to cast them out and replace them with alternates.”

“There hasn’t been a full 13 called since before the turn of the century.” Hermione took a sip of tea, her eyes never leaving the wizard. “But you’re right, I may need the Guild. But this conversation is between us here. I made Albus swear a wand oath before I told him. I will accept no less than that from you, as well as an unbreakable vow that you will never use anything I am about to tell you to aid a dark witch or wizard in _any_ way.”

“Not Grindelwald specifically?” Lestrange leaned forward. “Interesting. Albus is clearly more concerned with Gellert Grindelwald, but you’ve bigger fears, haven’t you?”

“I need that oath and the vow, please.” Hermione insisted darkly. “I get it or Guild be damned, you won’t leave this room alive.”

“Hermione!” Albus stood up quickly, knocking his cup over in the process. “You can’t just threatened murder!”

“I’ve killed before, Albus, for less cause.” Hermione’s tone was cold and she maintained eye contact with Lestrange, never blinking. “This room is warded so tight you can’t leave without me allowing it and no hint of what spells I preform in here will leak out. I kill you, knock Albus out, and I’m gone before Dippet and the others realize there’s a single thing amiss.”

Lestrange took the threat in stride. “I’m sure you are more than capable of murder, despite your well intentioned fiancé’s disbelief. Albus Dumbledore is quite powerful, but I’ve lived long enough I know the Dark Arts, girl. It’s in your eyes, the things you’ve done. You’ve used curses that would make his skin crawl.”

“Yes.” Hermione didn’t bother denying it. “I’ve invented a few as well. I don’t deny what I’ve done, or what I’m capable of doing. I never have. I’m not a Dark witch, but I’m not afraid to use whatever means to achieve a goal. I’ve killed, tortured, kidnaped, and broken people. I’ve taken out wizards twice my age and experience on the battlefield and I’ve survived more then one pureblood dungeon. I’m responsible for the deaths of bystanders that got in the way, innocents I couldn’t save, and I’ve taken lives just to keep them out of the hands of the enemy. I made a vow that I would always serve the Light, and I have, and I will continue to do so. But that doesn’t mean I haven’t walked in shadow. _You do not want me as an enemy._ ”

Lestrange nodded gravely but without a hint of fear. He pulled his wand slowly and slit his palm. The formal words of a blood bound oath flowed in the old tongue and Hermione held his gaze until the last of the Cymraeg intonations had dissipated and the magics sealed the wound. “I assume you know enough of the old ways to understand what I have done?” He asked, his tone solemn.

“Yes.” Hermione bowed deeply. “I do.”

Albus stared at them in confusion. “He just… he just…”

“Pledged my support to the Light – unbreakably and without reservation.” Lestrange supplied, his tone showing his amusement. “I believe it is the same oath you yourself took, Ms. Dalca? I believe it is still known as the _Creed of Ynys Afallach,_ ”

“Yes.” Hermione nodded. “Albus, are you familiar with it?”

“Only in legend.” Dumbledore sat forward, his eyes bright. “I didn’t realize anyone still living knew the Creed. I’ve only ever encountered it by name, references to a group of wizards that answered to no authority but the very nature of magic itself. I’d looked for it in archival records but I never thought to hear it done.”

Lestrange put his wand away in his sleeve and steepled his fingers. “It is part of the Old Ways and rarely preformed. The full version requires a rather in-depth ceremony, of which I took part as a young man just before gaining my Mastery. The version you just saw was a condensed sort of reaffirmation typically done when meeting another of the _gwawr angau_ that is unfamiliar.”

Albus turned to Hermione. “But, when you cut your hand with me, it was for a standard blood oath. A little old fashioned, but not that.”

Hermione sighed. “Albus, the words aren’t the identifying factor. It’s the magic behind them. Lestrange could have recited his grocery list right now and it wouldn’t have mattered. He used the ritual words to be an arrogant prick, not because I required them.” She frowned as she tried to find the words to explain. “There’s… a connection between the _gwawr angau_ that when the oath is reaffirmed we can _feel_ it. I reaffirmed my oath with both you and Filius and neither of you reacted. I didn’t use the ritual incantation because I didn’t want to draw attention to myself – or at least any more attention than I already had.”

“Why?” Albus frowned. “I don’t understand why you would hide that from me?”

Lestrange sighed heavily. “The _gwawr angau_ are bound to magic itself, Albus. I suspected Ms. Dalca was one because of her ability to use the stones and the chamber with so little training. The vows we take as _gwawr angau_ link us directly to the magical streams inside the lay lines – they guide us, partially dictate many of our actions. It is an older concept of Light and Dark that has little to do with modern distinctions. For the _gwawr angau_ , Darkness is the way of chaos, disorder. Distinctions of ‘right’ and ‘wrong’, ‘good’ and ‘bad’, are meaningless. You heard what Hermione said when she threatened me. She has done things, horrible things, to serve Light, _Order_. As a _gwawr angau_ she had no choice but to sacrifice herself, her loved ones, her _soul_ to preserve the essence of magic.”

Hermione lowered her head. “Albus, I made the choice to join the _gwawr angau_ after…after Ron died. I would have done anything to fight Voldemort. It had a heavy price. _Gwawr angau_ walk in shadow to serve the Light. We go into the places others fear, we _become_ the fear. To be _gwawr angau_ requires you to face every part of yourself that you deny, to _taste death_.”

“But isn’t that what the followers of your Voldemort called themselves, Death Eaters?” Albus asked.

“They took the name, but they did not take the essence.” Hermione raised her eyes to Lestrange. “Just because you are _gwawr angau_ doesn’t mean I can trust you with this – not without reassurance. This must remain between us, here. It can go no further.”

“Agreed.” Lestrange promised solemnly. “I have only ever met two other _gwawr angau_ in all my years since I took my oath. They are both dead. I would have no one to tell.”

“Are your numbers that small?” Albus asked.

“Yes.” Lestrange confessed. “It is not something you recruit for…it is…a calling, so to speak. Avalon calls us and we answer.” He shrugged. “We always act in secret, travel alone. It is not until a crisis that we would risk identifying ourselves, even to each other.” He turned to Hermione. “Whatever it is that has brought you here must be grave, if you have risked reaffirmation twice already.”

“And you have been brought here as well.” Hermione sighed. “It is a long story, Lestrange.”

“Then I will be patient. And please, you may call me Magnus.”

Hermione spent the next few hours bringing Magnus into their confidence. His frown grew as she spoke. When she finally confessed the true motivation behind her impending marriage to Albus the elderly arithmancer sighed.

“I commend you on your dedication, sister _gwawr angau._ ” He said formally before shaking his head. “But it would seem you have the situation that brought you here in hand. I would not have been brought here unless there was more to the situation. I felt the pull even before the Guild contacted me. There is something very wrong at Hogwarts. There may be unintended consequences of your arrival.”

“In my time, Belby never worked for Grindelwald, or at least was never caught.” Hermione put her head in her hands. “My arithmancy professor was a student of Belby’s, and she praised her extensively. It was my understanding that when she left Hogwarts, Belby went into the employ of the Department Of Mysteries. _This_ couldn’t have happened in my time.”

“Or you never discovered it.” Albus insisted quietly. “Whatever she was doing, she may have gotten away with it. But since you were here, her plans were foiled. She knew you would see that she’d tampered with the chamber, so she used it to try and kill you, hoping it would look like an accident. When that didn’t work, she fled.”

“I have no idea what ramifications this might have on the timeline.” Hermione twisted her hands anxiously. “I did extensive calculations before we came up with this plan, _extensive_. I cannot interfere with Grindelwald or do anything that will hasten or postpone his down fall. If I do, there will be dreadful consequences. There are other things I can manipulate – lesser things, small things. But this, this I _must not_ interfere with. What if I’ve done so accidently? We’d never planed to involve Albus or Filius, and I wasn’t able to run any equations because I wasn’t healed from the Curse. Finding out your allegiances landed me on bed rest – if I’d tried to use the stones to calculate anything more complicated it could have killed me.”

Lestrange made a considering sound deep in his throat. “We must find Belby to determine what exactly she was doing. I will take the modifications off the chamber and see what I can establish on my own. I would suggest that you use your contacts, Albus, to see if you can narrow her possible hiding spots down. If you can get me a list of the four or five most likely I should be able to calculate which one will be her most probable location.” He stood up. “In the mean time, I suggest you continue on as planned. _Your_ priority, Hermione, must be preventing the rise of this new Dark Lord _by whatever means_. I agree with your late husband, killing him must be the last recourse we take. Such a strong wizard dying by violence while in an innocent state will unbalance regional magics and most likely transfer Darkness into a new host.”

“But is the child already carrying this darkness?” Albus asked, clearly not liking the thought.

“No.” Lestrange rubbed tiredly at his eyes. “No child is born evil. Evil is a choice, a path. In her world he started on that path very young, but it would not be until he killed his first innocent victim that he was truly Dark. But if we take an action, such as murder, against a soul that is not yet Dark, it will _create_ a Darkness by the act itself.”

“There is a legend,” Hermione began softly. “A legend that one day a _gwawr angau_ will go too far in service of the Light, and by their very action create a Darkness so vast it will swallow the Earth. Severus…Severus thought that if we killed him, _we_ would become the Darkness.”

Lestrange shivered. “If a _gwawr angau_ were to be somehow corrupted by Darkness, our ability to feel and manipulate magical energies would make them unimaginably powerful.”

“It’s not that I’m intrinsically that much stronger of a witch now that I’ve become _gwawr angau_.” Hermione clarified. “But because I can sense magic more instinctively, I’m able to be incredibly accurate in spell creation and delivery. I can also draw from magical energies around me to boost my own power level and keep me fighting long past the point where my own energies would normally be depleted. It’s subtle in normal everyday activities, but it’s an incredibly powerful trick when you need it. It’s the only reason I’m alive and all the others are dead.”

“So, we just do nothing?” Albus asked softly. “We just continue on until Belby makes another move or we find her? And what then?”

“She tells us what we need to know.” Hermione stated grimly, her wand hand twitching. “And then I insure she is no longer a threat.”

Albus eyed her, the twinkle missing from his expressive blue eyes. “Hermione, I cannot condone murder and torture.”

“You do not have to.” Lestrange stated in a too calm voice. “That is what the _gwawr angau_ are for.”


	19. I could have danced all night...

Albus couldn’t sleep. He’d known from the moment he met her, looking so small and awkward in the Headmaster’s office, that Hermione was trouble. From the way the castle had filled her rooms with artifacts that would make an auror salivate, he’d known she had experience on the battlefield. He’d never dreamed the witch could have done the things she claimed to have. She didn’t seem like a killer. He’d watched her with the Sprout children, and while she seemed awkward with them, she’d been as gentle as a lamb.

There was something in her eyes, however, that made him believe that maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t exaggerating. She was too nice, too normal, to have employed the methods she and Magnus had so casually discussed –at least on the surface. Underneath there was a swirling layer of _something_ that was just out of reach – something that scared him. There was an edge to Hermione, a steely sharpness that spoke of a higher purpose and deep commitment. She fought like the devil – he could testify to that. But he’d never seen her in a real battle and he’d come to the conclusion he never wanted to.

He liked her. He could admit that; they were to be married after all. Oh it wasn’t love, it wasn’t even attraction really. But she reminded him of his mother with her quiet determination and fortitude. Reminded him of Gellert with her fierceness and her scholarship. Reminded him of himself with her guilt. She had become his _friend_. He didn’t have many. There was Nicholas of course. And he thought he could count Filius as one. Cara tried, bless her heart, and so did Galatea, but Cara was too soft and too innocent to really talk to about the coming war, and Galatea had been his teacher and mentor while at Hogwarts and he could not bring himself to confide in her about the everyday things that one would take to a friend.

Hermione was the first person in a very long time that he felt was interested in _him_. Most of the people at the Ministry that bothered with him did so believing that one day he would be Headmaster and so they courted his good will, saving it up for a day where they thought they might be able to leverage it. It was how the pureblood world worked and while they never quite let him forget his mother was a muggleborn witch, they recognized talent. He was too valuable to alienate, but too tainted to befriend. His father’s imprisonment and death in Azkaban still haunted his reputation and those that did approach him tended to think he was secretly a muggle-hater – which he always quickly corrected – and soon they would go away.

He’d never known anyone with such a weight of darkness on them. He knew, now that Hermione had confessed to what she was – to the oath that she’d taken – that she couldn’t be a _dark_ witch, or Dark as she called it. Every action she took had to serve the greater good. But the actions themselves carried a terrible weight. She looked years older then she was and when you gazed into her eyes, it was like looking into the darkest eclipse. She’d given up on her own soul – he could feel it. She kept going, kept getting up everyday, kept fighting, not for herself but for the rest of the world. What little dreams she kept for herself were few and she seemed less than willing to fight for even the smallest of them.

He’d nearly cried when she’d talked about wanting a little potion shop. It wasn’t a grand dream. Frankly it was well within the reach of any new immigrant. Witches were welcome into the Potion Guild and gaining the status of licensed brewer was something she could have done easily. Dippet would have gladly put in a word for her and a few potion samples later she would have had all the paperwork she needed. She could have gotten work easily in one of the small apothecaries and saved up enough to start her own in a few years. It was not a grand dream yet the way she’d talked of it, her tone so wistful and longing, it was as if it was as unattainable as the moon.

The experimental lab she and her late husband had desired was harder to come by, but not impossible. Without him she’d have had to find a way to gain a Mastery, but Albus himself had dangled that possibility. The joy he’d seen on her face when he told her Nicholas was interested had been, frankly, magical. It was the first real smile he’d seen on her, and he’d instantly wanted to put more there.

But it wasn’t even _her_ dream. She wanted to do it because she wanted Severus’ memory to live. She wanted to complete _his_ work. She left nothing for herself.

Oh, Albus had no doubt she enjoyed potions. But it was a melancholy sort of enjoyment. He could see her mourning for her husband in every slice of the knife. She’d take the apprenticeship with Nicholas and she would earn her Mastery. She might even take a second with Filius in charms so she could work with her knew husband on his alchemy projects. She loved to learn and if she had the chance he had no doubt she would earn a Mastery in every subject that presented itself. But one look at her, merged with her stones, and he’d known that was not the path she’d wanted – the path she’d dreamed of before the war, before her world had crashed down on her and she’d started sacrificing everything she cared for one after another.

When she’d asked him if she could get into the Hogwarts arithmancy chamber he’d been surprised. Now he knew. Hermione was good at many many things. But Hermione _loved_ arithmancy. If war and horrors unimaginable had not landed on her tiny shoulders she would have spent her life pursuing that love. Even her status as _gwawr angau_ furthered it since it made her more in tune with the magical currents. Hermione was born to ride the invisible magical rivers of power that made their world possible. It was as much a part of her as her need to breath. And she’d been willing to give it up – had in essence already done so. She’d been prepared to go back in time and to never again step inside a chamber.

Coming to Hogwarts must have seemed like a dream come true to her. She could _learn_ new things. She would be safe. She would have a chance to earn the necessary things to start a real life. And she was once again near a Chamber. When Belby had denied her request, Albus had watched the tiny spark of hope, that had been born with his offer of Nichol’s apprenticeship, snuff out. He didn’t understand why, not then. Now he knew.

Hermione had given up everything to stop this Voldemort. He would not allow her to give up _this_.

Magnus Lestrange was clearly sent from the gods –whatever his despicable political views. Albus had no doubts that if Hermione were to reveal her actual parentage, Magnus would have been even more vile. As it was, he thought her a _near_ mudblood – a second generation witch little better than a muggle-born, but at last worthy of training. Albus wasn’t so sure he’d feel that way if he new the truth. Although, he was gwawr angau too so perhaps he wouldn’t have a choice.

They’d refused to tell him more about their oaths. And Hermione had quietly begged him to accept her words. She couldn’t tell him more about Grindelwald – not even when he would have to face him. He knew now that he would – that at least was clear. But while Hermione had vowed that she would be there to support him, she could not interfere directly.

It was just as well. He didn’t know if he could stomach putting her into another war zone. She’d barely made it out of the last one sane. He could see the strain in her.

How many Cruciatus had the poor thing been under?

After effects of Cruciatus were no minor matter. A single short burst could do permanent nerve damage if an individual didn’t have strong magic to protect them. But for disciplines that required channeling large amounts of magical energy – such as arithmancy, warding, or curse breaking, Cruciatus was an ongoing torture. It could takes weeks for internal magical conduits to heal after a round of Crucio – weeks where the victim couldn’t preform the magics that made up their livelihood, or in Hermione’s case, her calling. Each time the victim was under the curse the damage took longer to heal, and the risk of permanent disability increased. She said it would be six months before she’d healed enough – six months…

Her hand had trembled, after the stones. Trembled like a person just released from the curse. He saw how her muscles jumped and tensed under her skin. She’d bitten through her lip trying to stifle her cries. And that was only from channeling magic too soon. She’d either been held under a very powerful Crucio for a very long time, or she’d been under repeat rounds so many times it…

Albus swung his feet out of his bed and gave up on sleep. Lanky was with Hermione, keeping watch on her new mistress and Lestrange had provided the small elf with the best advice on how to care for her particular brand of magical exhaustion and after curse care. Heat and rest he’d said. That was all they could really do. Heat, rest, and a few minor potions that might take the edge off enough that she would be functional.

Albus had already told Beery not to expect his assistant for the next few days. Cara was already coming up with things to keep Hermione occupied and in bed for the next forty-eight hours. Dippet, bless him, had called in several favors and a discrete healer with experience in the Cruciatus was on the way in the morning.

None of which made Albus feel any better about the situation.

And did he mention, he did not like Magnus Lestrange?

The man was everything that was wrong with pureblood society in one distressing package. He thought muggles were worth less then wizards based on only their birth. He valued bloodlines over inherent talent. He thought a witch’s first duty was to her husband’s happiness not her own. And he thought nothing of using or abusing someone to get what he wanted so long as the ends justified the means.

Apparently Hermione had adopted a similar attitude on the last part, but Albus was fairly certain that she did so out of necessity rather than apathy towards suffering.

They were stuck with the man, however. And if Hermione could get the training she lacked to realize her full arithmetical potential – well, then he’d have to put up with him. For her. Because a good husband, as far as Albus was concerned, sacrificed for his family and putting up with an elitist bastard for a few years so Hermione could learn as much from him as possible was not really asking that much. His father had done much more after all.

Hermione hardly needed him to protect her with his wand –that was clear. But she very obviously needed protection in other ways. She needed someone to keep her from sacrificing everything for the cause. She needed someone to make her laugh and to smile. She needed someone to remind her that not everything in life brought pain and sorrow – that there was still light and joy in the world if you were willing to look for them.

After Ariana had died, it had taken him years to realize that. He’d been consumed with his guilt over Gellert and the duel that had taken her life and he’d buried himself in his studies, running from his brother, from his responsibilities, and from himself. Nicholas had found him, rescued him from his own pit of despair. Hermione needed someone to remind her that merely existing was not living.

He wished there was another way for her to accomplish her mission than to marry him. He knew she was still mourning her late husband, and that while she had started to see him as a friend, Albus was not the love her life. She looked at him, and Albus could see in her eyes the pain that her memories brought. She knew so much of his life that he had yet to live – would never live if she was successful. She saw two men when she looked at his face – the man he was now, and the man he would never actually be. She would marry him and perhaps, in time, come to love him as a friend and an ally. But despite the image they were presenting to the world, they were not _in love_. Albus wanted her to be in love again. To feel that again.

After Gellert he’d closed that part of himself off. He didn’t think he was capable of it, no matter how worthy the witch or wizard. Something in him had broken that day and no amount of spellwork or healing time could stitch it back together. He couldn’t give her that kind of love, and he so wished he could.

 

* * *

The Great Hall was decorated like an enchanted garden and Albus gazed around in awe at the work the Headmaster and Filius had done.

Student and staff made up the majority of the guests and there was a general air of excitement in the crowd. True to his prediction, his brother had not come for the wedding. A handful of people from the Ministry and an old neighbor or two had turned up. Nichols stood as his second. Neither of them had a single family member to stand with them, and he tried not to let that bother him.

When the doors opened and Hermione walked through, Albus was surprised to find his breath catch in his throat. He hadn’t given much thought to the actual wedding, his attention focused on the war and the coming adoption. He wasn’t expecting the sight of her to affect him so. The muggle off white dress was beautiful in it’s oddity and floated about her like mist. She looked ethereal and if he hadn’t known she was still recovering from magical strain he would have thought she’d been channeling the castle’s magics to create the glow that surrounded her.

Cara walked with her as her honor maid and in a break with tradition no wizard walked with them. Dippet had volunteered, he knew, but Hermione had politely refused. She looked nervous but not unhappy as she neared and he took her hand when she held it out. She smelled like lilacs even though it was fall and he couldn’t help but brush a stray lock of her magnificent hair back from her face. She smiled at gesture, her eyes dancing in the twinkling fairy lights that were enchanted into her veil.

Dippet preformed the short wizard style ceremony with little fuss, only loosing his hat twice. It was a unique blend of old and new – the words of the bonding spell drafted in the Latin tongue, but the vows having none of the old pureblood language. Hermione would not answer to him as lord; neither of them had desired that. Dippet thought it reformist and Cara had called it charming – but Albus drew comfort from the knowledge that while he could not do more for her, he could at least give her the security of being a bonded wife without the chains that most would have demanded. The rope was warm around his wrist and when the magic of the bonding was completed, it tickled as it sank into his skin.

Lestrange was the first to congratulate them, followed by Galatea, and the students let out a loud cheer. The wedding was followed by the Halloween feast and the wedding ball soon after. If asked later to describe the proceedings, Albus could only honestly say they were a blur. Hermione and he danced as the enchanted instruments played until neither could feel their feet and somewhere along the line she smiled at him. Then she laughed. By the time the ball was drawing to a close she actually looked happy. And Albus could only clearly recall _her_. All the darkness he feared in her, all the pain, for once he saw her light of heart. This was a new memory for her, something she had never done in her past life. Whatever regrets she had for never having had this with Severus or her first ‘husband’ had been pushed aside. She was letting herself have the moment and as Albus spun her around the Great Hall he felt a twinge as something he had thought long dead within himself stirred.

It wasn’t until they were making their way to their new joint quarters that he realized exactly how frightened he was by that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wedding night is the next chapter and it will be from Hermione's POV. Probably won't be too graphic, but I thought I should warn you.


	20. First Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mild smut ahead...

Hermione did a lot of soul searching as she rested in her room after the incident with the stones. She’d never intended to reveal herself to Albus, not so completely. Of course, she’d never intended for _anyone_ to ever know the truth. Now, three wizards knew part or all of her mission and while that should terrify her, she could only feel a heavy sense of relief. 

Lestrange was an utter prick, but having another _gwawr angau_ near would make things vastly easier. She and Severus had taken their oaths together and had often worked in tandem on channeling magics. When Draco had defected to them and become her arithmancy partner they had made a powerful triad for working with the stones. Had they a chamber, Hermione suspected the war might have turned out differently. As it was, Lestrange would be a powerful ally. Even if it meant she had to endure his sexist pureblood racist commentary. In his defense, the man was over two hundred. He was born in 1715. The world had changed significantly and he would have had difficulty keeping up. Hermione suspected that was one reason he hardly ever left his manor. If it wasn’t for a good translation spell they would even have some difficulty conversing! She just had to keep reminding herself of that.

She stayed in bed for three days, gathering her energy and spending it on healing. There were a few things that a _gwawr angau_ could do to speed healing, and she used her magical focus to aid her natural internal processes. It would still take months to be back in shape, but if she could avoid using the stone or the chamber till after they had retrieved Riddle she should not have to worry about another episode. Unless of course she got cursed again, but so far 1926 had been far more peaceful than the future she’d left and this had been the longest she’d gone without being on the wrong end of a Dark Curse since she’d turned 13. She had high hopes that she might actually manage a complete recovery this time.

When she returned to work Cara and Beery were overly careful around her until she’d proved she wasn’t magicless by levitating the entire greenhouse 4 so that Filius could charm the foundation back into shape. After that they seemed to realize that while she couldn’t do advanced arithmancy while recovering, and it would probably be good to keep away from heavy warding, she was more then capable of every day magics. 

No news had come about the location of Prof. Belby and Lestrange was still working on reversing the chamber back to its original runic configurations. Hermione was a bundle of nerves and it took nearly a month before she stopped jumping at every noise. She wasn’t used to peace and had to keep reminding herself that there wasn’t a threat around every corner. She felt like Mad-Eye just after the TriWizard tournament. Her classes were going fine and her independent revision was progressing – even the wedding plans were going well. Everything was, in fact, _fine_.

It made her nervous.

Nicholas Flamel spent an entire week at Hogwarts at the start of October. He watched her brew, posed a few questions, and before he left he handed her a formal offer of apprenticeship without even waiting for her NEWTs. Hermione had stared at the scroll in shock until her tears had landed on the outside of the seal and snapped her out of her daze. She’d accepted of course.

Lestrange wasn’t going to offer an apprenticeship – that was beyond what he’d do for a ‘near mudblood’. But, he was providing her with the theory she was missing and he had promised that when she was recovered he would work with her in the chamber and show her the things Vector had never been able to. When he felt she was ready, he would present her to the Guild for testing. At that point they would decide her level. If she worked hard she _might_ test into a Mastery. It was rare to do so without an apprenticeship, but it wasn’t unheard of.

She’d turned down Filius’ offer with regret. A potions apprenticeship and whatever Lestrange had to offer in arithmancy would be more then she could manage with a baby Riddle. 

The morning of her wedding Hermione woke and it took her nearly an hour to put her finger on what was wrong. She was…happy. 

It had been so long since she’d been honestly happy, Hermione had forgotten what it felt like. The magical currents that flowed through the school were quiet – nothing that demanded her attention as a _gwawr angau_. She had secured one apprenticeship and was well on her way to Guild recognition in another subject. She would take her NEWTs when the time came and was fairly well positioned for them. And thanks to Albus her mission now stood a very good chance of succeeding. After all, if anything could keep a child from going dark, it would be the benevolent good cheer of Albus Dumbledore and having said wizard as a father. 

Cara and Lanky arrived and helped her into the dress. Filius stopped by for a few moments to charm her hair. Galatea loaned her a beautiful necklace from her family’s jewels. And even Lestrange sent her a card and a small wedding gift of a sixpence for her shoe. 

A part of her felt a measure of guilt for her happiness. After all, she’d never married either of her late ‘husbands’ and here she was about to bond with Albus Dumbledore in a marriage of convenience. What right did she have to be happy? Yet, for some reason, she was. Being a _gwawr angau_ did have a considerable number of drawbacks, but one clear advantage was that when the magic in a moment felt _right_ you could rest assured it was. And this…this felt _right_. 

The wedding was a blur. Albus stood out in his deep purple robes, the Dumbledore family crest in Ciselé velvet. On any other man it would have looked ridiculous, but on him, it was so Dumbledore it made her smile. The expression on his face as he watched her come up the aisle had been priceless and as she’d taken his hand she’d felt him grasp hers with slightly more force then strictly necessary. The vows they’d agreed on a head of time and the ceremony had gone perfectly.

Cara had not been joking when she’d said Albus loved to dance. Hermione hadn’t danced so much the rest of her life put together. But it had been grand, swirling around the Great Hall, the silken gossamer of her dress catching in the folds of his velvet robes, her laugher mingling with his. It was as if the entire night was bathed in magic. She caught Lestrange’s eye as they finally made their way out of the hall and he smirked at her, dipping his head in confirmation. However unplanned their union had been, it felt right to her and to her fellow _gwawr angau_ which could only mean it was.

It wasn’t until they were away from the noise and the excitement of the Great Hall that Hermione realized where, and to what, they were headed.

They hadn’t really discussed this part. The bonding would need consummation to be official and while Hermione wasn’t terribly concerned, the nervous flickering looks Albus was throwing her as they walked slowly towards their new quarters meant he was. Of course, Hermione was as far from a virgin bride as one could possibly be, and from a different time all together. Albus, on the other hand, appeared to be demonstrating a rather Victorian lack of comfort with the subject.

A voice that sounded suspiciously like Severus piped up in the back of her mind and told her she should make sure to take a large blood sample. It would be very useful in Potions later. It wasn’t often one found a wizard of such power that was still Pure and the possibilities were boggling… She wondered absently if Severus had done that in her time…

Albus was clearly distressed by the time their chamber door closed behind them.

“Albus,” Hermione led him to the lounge near the fireplace and sat down slowly next to him. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, yes of course.” He looked down and away as he said it, his hands toying with the trim of his robes. “I just…I am just unaccustomed to not knowing what to do.” He looked back up, his expression timid. “And I’m afraid I am very much out of my depth.”

Hermione smiled and gently took his hand. “Do you trust me?”

“Of course.”

She couldn’t help but smile. “Then can I have a blood sample?”

He blinked at her. “A what?!”

“Not everyday I run into a forty some year old virgin wizard of great power. And since I’m about to ruin that, we should collect some while we still can. May need it for brewing later.”

Albus gapped before he gave a nervous cough. “Nichols took some when he was a here a few weeks ago.” He blushed. “I…I should have offered…”

“Relax.” Hermione rubbed her thumb gently across the back of his hand. “I was half joking.”

“No, no it’s a good idea.” Albus waved his free hand and a potion flask appeared. He handed it to Hermione. “It’s best if the brewer collects it and if you bind it to you so no other can use it.”

“Trusting me with this much blood is…” Hermione eyed the container then her new husband. “I could do terrible things with this using blood magic, Albus. I was thinking we should collect it for _you_.”

“Hardly makes a difference in my branch of alchemy. Go on.” He insisted, some of his usual twinkle returning to his eyes. “I insist.”

Hermione gave a small shrug. “Who am I to argue? Hold still.” She held her wand up to his arm and painlessly withdrew a small stream of blood into the flask. A complex wand movement later it was bound to her insuring no other witch or wizard could use it. She capped the flask and set it down carefully on the side table. 

Albus rubbed his arm where she’d taken the sample then blushed again, his eyes darting to anything in the room but his wife.

“Would this be easier if we took something? I brewed an fairly good aphrodisiac if you need it?” Hermione offered softly. “I mean…can you…are you…interested? Errr…can you be interested – on your own?”

Albus’ eyes flew to hers in shock. “Hermione!”

“Well, how am I supposed to know!” She defended. 

“I’m not defective!” Albus insisted, clearly offended. “I just…haven’t.”

“All right. So…” Hermione bit her lip. “How do you want to go about it? I mean, first times are usually pretty lackluster anyway…so I wouldn’t take tonight as a good example of what’s possible… but I don’t know what you expect… or anything.”

Albus was nearly as purple as robes. “This is rather backward. Isn’t the wizard supposed to be the one with experience?”

Hermione chuckled. “Galatea and Cara cornered me to make sure I knew what to expect. I reminded them this was my third marriage and poor Galatea started lecturing me on not breaking you.”

“I’m not even sure I know what that means.” Albus huffed, his head going down into his hands. “It has been years since I’ve had to take direction like a school boy.”

Hermione snorted. “Trust me, school boys don’t take direction in this very well. They tend to fumble around with lots of assertions that they know what they are doing – and trust me, they don’t.” She slowly peeled his hands away from his reddened cheeks. “Look, Albus, think of it this way. I know what I like and I’m happy to share that with you. If you tell me what you like, then maybe we can make this evening as fun as the dancing, hum?”

“Alright…” He took a deep breath. “So…how do we…?”

Hermione leaned forward slowly and when he didn’t move away, she brought their lips together in a gentle kiss. It took a moment for Albus to respond and his movements were tentative. Soon, however, he seemed to get the jest of it. His hands went hesitantly up to her hair, his fingers burring themselves in the wild tresses and dislodging the carefully arranged fairylights that Filius had charmed into them. They broke the kiss, both of them laughing softly as the little lights took flight, sailing around the room like lazy fireflies.

“I wonder if he planed that.” Hermione breathed.

“Most likely.” Albus admitted, smiling softly as he watched them for a moment. When he turned back to her his look was warm, his nerves considerably calmer. “I realize that I should most likely have said this far earlier in the evening, but you look enchanting, Hermione.”

“You cut quite a figure yourself, Albus.” She patted the velvet robes and ran her hands slowly down his shoulders and over his arms. “I will never understand how you can make the most absurd robes look endearing. On anyone else I’d hate them. On you? On you I love them.”

Albus chuckled, leaning forward until their foreheads met. “You’ve met my brother. I received all the familiar allotment of fashion sense while Aberforth was the unfortunate recipient of the goat sense.”

“Sure.” Hermione pulled him closer. “Believe that if you want.” She whispered against his lips. This kiss was no more rushed then the last but Albus seemed to have gained his footing and he returned it with more interest. “Fast learner.” Hermione complimented him, slightly breathless, as they broke apart for air.

“Can…can I…?” he asked hesitantly, his hand hovering over the edges of the veil. 

Hermione nodded and she felt the slight tickle of a charm being released as Albus wandlessly undid the enchantment holding the gossamer fabric in place. It slide down her back with a slight _whoosh_ and his hands rested on her shoulders, the heat from them causing her to shiver.

She didn’t ask for permission. She reached up to the clasp of his outer robe and undid the metal piece, brushing it back off his shoulders to reveal the lighter silk of his inner robe. His breathing quickened as her hand rested heavily on his chest. She raised her eyes to his, silently asking if he was ready. He nodded, swallowing, and she undid the top two fastenings. His skin was a pale and smooth, with just a small hint of auburn hair where the robes came open. He shivered as her fingers brushed it and her tongue darted forward to wet her lips unconsciously. Her gaze flickered up to his before falling back down to undue another clasp. 

She let a hint of her magic surface as she touched him and his eyes fluttered closed at the sensation. “Hermione,” his breath hitched. “How…”

“Here,” she offered, taking his hand and raising it to the neck of her own gown. “Don’t think about it, just let your magic answer mine. It makes it _worlds_ better, I promise.”

She felt it the moment he responded, his magic coming forth almost as if a damn had burst and she shuddered under the heavy sensation of his power as his fingers fumbled blindly with the tiny buttons on the back of her of gown. She felt them give way with a wandless spell and she stood, letting the fabric fall to the ground to puddle at her feet. Her silk camiknicker was nearly sheer and she’d gone without stays or brassier to keep the lines of the dress smooth. Next to him, still clad in his robes, she felt more vulnerable then she had since arriving in this time. Her nipples pebbled as his eyes traveled over her and she felt her magic flutter against his even though they were not touching. Her hand moved unconsciously to cover the top of her scar, aquired so long ago in the Department of Mysteries, where it peaked out above the lace edges. 

Albus stood and moved to her, pulling her hand away gently. “Now you are retiring?” He teased softly, his own finger grazing over the faint ridge. “I have never seen a woman so lovely. You wear your scars like most wear jewels.”

“How many nearly naked women have you seen?” Hermione only half joked. 

His eyes twinkled. “Oh, I’ve looked my dear.” His hands traveled down her sides to rest in the curve of her hip. “I may never have wished to risk attachment to either witch or wizard, but I am only but a man.” He dipped his head to kiss her again quickly, his mouth traveling to her neck as he breathed in her scent.

“Albus Dumbledore, have you been collecting pornography?” Hermione chuckled her own hands worming their way into his robes, pushing the last of the material away until he stood bare before her. Her grin widened. “I see you hold to the wizarding tradition of going sans-pants.”

Albus blushed but did not pull away, his own hand traveling to the top of her leg and rubbing against the button on her garter. “I thought it would be appropriate for the occasion.”

She chuckled, the sound deeper than usual. “Oh, I agree.” She shifted so that his hand grazed her inner thigh. “However, I do enjoy making a wizard work for it.”

“This is hardly work.” Albus admonished, brushing the straps of her undergarment down over her shoulders. It fell down her body in a cascade of silk and she parted her legs just enough to let it slide all the way to the floor leaving her in only her garter and the lace belt. He eyed it quizzically for a moment. “Muggle?”

“Do you like it?” Hermione stepped closer and his hands hovered at her sides before slowly touching her, one going down to finger the lace and the other moving to gently cup her breast. His beard tickled the top of her breasts.

“Very inventive, muggles.” Albus’ voice squeaked. “Very…tactile.”

Hermione giggled. “Oh, if we end up repeating this evening in the future I can promise you there are far more interesting garments available.” She gently on his beard in teasing.

Albus’ eyes widened as his hands continued to explore. He gasped as Hermione shifted closer, pressing herself into him, one silk stocking covered leg entwining around him. “Shall we move to the bedroom?” She asked huskily before rubbing against him as she moved to go around him, taking his hand to lead him after her.

Their new quarters were made in the pureblood style- a central area with a bedroom for each on either side separated by the nursery space. She hesitated, looking left and then right, unsure which to go to. They’d toured the rooms the week prior, but she had not been back inside them since approving the layout with Dippet. Albus embraced her from behind, holding her close to lean down to her ear. 

“Where ever you prefer.” He nuzzled her behind her ear.

“I…”She sighed and leaned back against him. “Will you be wanting to sleep alone – after? Or can we sleep together tonight?” She turned, her arms going behind his neck to tangle in his hair. “I don’t mind sharing a bed with you but if you want to separate, then it will depend on if you want be the one to get up.”

Albus’ hands continued their wanderings as he pondered the question. “I haven’t shared a bed since Aberforth and I were boys, and never like this.” He sighed softly. “I don’t know.”

“Men usually like to go right to sleep.” Hermione offered. “What if we go to your room, and if you are uncomfortable with me staying, just tell me. Otherwise,” she blushed softly. “I should warn you I tend to cuddle.”

“Cuddle?” He asked.

“uhhum.” Hermione nodded, her hands going to cup his rear and pull him sharply against her. She smiled ferally at the feeling of his hardening length. “I’m rather tactile.”

“I _like_ tactile.” He chocked out, pulling her even closer. 

“Then I think we have an accord.” Hermione smirked, backing up once more and pulling him into the bedroom.

Albus was a fast learner and Hermione took her time to guide him when he seemed to falter. For the most part he seemed concerned about hurting her, and several times she had to assure him that he was all right; He really could touch her there – that was a good noise, really. She let her magic dance along his skin and his own twirled along her nerves deliciously. Where they mixed it was a heady cocktail of sensual magics that aided them both in finding what would please the other. Hermione kept the foreplay minimal, seeing how overwhelmed he was becoming as things progressed, and it didn’t take long for Albus to loose himself entirely in the experience.

She curled into his side as he recovered, one hand sneaking down to find the release that their pace hadn’t allowed her. Her eyes fell closed as she worked and she let out a gasp as she reached her own peak. When she slowly blinked her eyes open it was to find Albus watching her.

“I’m sorry.” He apologized, his eyes regretful. “I missed something, didn’t I?”

Hermione moved closer, laying her head on his chest. His arm came up to circle her. “Not at all, Albus. It’s just… not easy for me to…do that.” Hermione confessed, her cheeks reddening despite their intimate position. “I can take a long time to get close and…”

“I was not going to last.” Albus filled in the blank, his tone full of insecurity.

Hermione raised herself up to kiss him softly. “Remember what I said about first times? New partners always take a while to learn the other. And I do not mind making good use of my own hands, especially not with you here, watching.” Hermione kissed his chest. “I like the idea that you just watched, actually. Watched and felt it too didn’t you, through our magics?”

He nodded, his eyes still traveling over her form. “Will there be a next time?” He asked hesitantly.

“Do you want there to be?” Hermione laid her head back down. “I won’t ask it of you, Albus. But I certainly don’t mind. I’m…used to a rather… _robust_ sex life. There wasn’t a lot to do between battles while on the run. I’m afraid I may shock you.”

“If you are patient with me, I think…I would enjoy learning. Heaven knows there aren’t exactly a lot of wizards here at Hogwarts to take my place.”

Hermione chuckled tiredly. “When I’m all healed I’ll have to show you what it’s like when I tap into the lay lines…”

Albus twitched under her. “That sounds…intriguing.”


	21. Snake's Bite

December came quickly to Hogwarts and Albus was surprised at how easily he took to wedded life. Of course, since they both had their own rooms in their chambers they could avoid one another as often as it suited them and Hermione seemed to share his need for quiet. She would often withdraw into her study and close the door. He could feel her tentatively drawing magic from the castle, testing her healing, before releasing it back. They did not spend the night together often, at least not at first, but as the days turned to weeks they found themselves in each others’ arms more often then not. He was fairly certain that she was more versed in the sensual arts then any witch of good breeding ought to be, for which he was delightfully grateful -Filius’ knowing smirk not withstanding. 

There was something oddly comforting about having her close to him. Her magic and his vibrated together in a reassuring hum that left him more rested and centered than he usually felt. And Hermione seemed to draw strength from their unions, her nervous energy finding an outlet that she couldn’t with her arithmancy. Her frustration over their inability to locate Prof. Belby and her enforced rest from advanced magics kept her irritable and he found that their marriage bed was one of the few ways he could distract her from dark thoughts and melancholy.

Lestrange was in the chamber nearly constantly as he tried to puzzle out Belby’s motives and Albus’ contacts in the Ministry and abroad were searching everywhere they thought it even half likely she would have gone. Their spies said she had never reached Gellert, so wherever, and whatever, she was up to, it was looking more and more likely she had not left Britain at all. Gellert had halted his advance and seemed to be waiting for something, possibly the situation in Muggle Germany to deteriorate. They were dangerously unstable politically and after the Great War, Albus feared what was coming. Hermione’s expression would close and she would curl in on herself whenever he mentioned it, which worried him even more. He was unsure if the sudden break in hostilities was the pause before a worse storm, or if the situation with Belby had caused Gellert to revaluate his plans.

Thankfully, Nicholas had only the highest praise for his new apprentice and Hermione spent three evenings a week flooing to his home to brew. Her work in the greenhouses took up the majority of the rest of her time that wasn’t spent in DADA or with Lestrange. What little time she had free she spent revising for her NEWTs or quietly ensconced in her study doing whatever it is one of her elk did. Albus still had mixed feelings about her revelation, but as December neared he pushed his concern to the side. The fight with Gellert could wait, but Hermione’s reason for being here was fast approaching and they had to lay the groundwork carefully.

In order to divert suspicion they had done as Lestrange suggested and approached Dippet about putting a small tracking spell on the Hogwarts ledger to notify them if any wizarding child’s custody was switched to a muggle orphanage. The Headmaster had been reluctant until Hermione suggested, in her softly accented voice, that _he_ preform the charm. That way, if only Dippet were informed, he could insure that no one took advantage. That seemed to be a reasonable course of action to the elderly wizard and so he preformed the charm. If it worked well for them he confessed that he might consider allowing other couples to petition for it. The handful of muggleborn children that had come to them from such places were always sorry things and it often broke his heart to see them so unloved and unwanted –some victims of horrible abuse and others simple neglect. If he could safely offer a way for wizarding homes to be found for them, then he would do so gladly as long he could insure the system was not abused. 

The 31st dawned in a miserable swirl of dreary grey snow and half-light. Hermione anxiously paced their sitting room, having made her excuses for missing her normal Friday schedule by pleading ill health, unable to concentrate on anything for long. Albus went to his morning classes as usual but spent his free afternoon watching her. 

“You do realize that it’s unlikely he’ll go directly into the orphanage? And even if he does, he won’t show on the register until there’s some kind of a magical incident. Some children don’t appear until they are several years old.” He finally broke the silence as the sun, what little there was of it, disappeared over the horizon. 

“Oh he’ll be on it nearly instantly.” Hermione grumbled. “This is Voldemort we’re discussing.”

“Tom.” Albus corrected. “You must start thinking of the child as something separate from this Dark Lord or you shall never be able to manage this. He’s just an infant.”

Hermione collapsed into a chair and growled in frustration. “I’m not sure I can do this, Albus. I can’t be a mother! I’m barely able to be a wife!”

“I’ve no complaints.” Albus shifted several papers to the side of the desk and stood up. He leaned over her and pressed a kiss into her wild hair. 

“That’s because Lanky does all the cooking and cleaning. You just let me hang around because of the sex.”

“Much to my shock, I do like that aspect.” Albus smirked at her amused snort. “But, that is hardly the reason I keep you. I find I enjoy the company and you do make quite intelligent conversation now and again.”

“That and I’m a wicked dueling partner.” She closed her eyes as he gently rubbed her shoulders.

“True.” He admitted. “And when you finish your Potion Mastery you’ll be even more help than you already are in the lab. Frankly I couldn’t have asked for a better match if I’d conjured one myself.”

Hermione cracked an eye open. “We could always invite Nicholas and his wife to join us…I’ve seen how you two look at one another.”

Albus turned crimson, his hands freezing. “Join…? As in…?”

She chuckled, the tone rich and deep. “She asked me yesterday if I thought you’d consider it. I didn’t realize people from their generation swung.” At his confused look she clarified. “Swinging is what they call it in my day when couples would swap for an evening. Technically if all four are involved it’s an orgy.”

“Hermione, I was born in the 1880s. There is only so much deviancy I can take in one year. Perhaps we can hold off on your 21st Century pursuits until after the new year?”

“In my defense, they brought it up! And Nicholas is several centuries older then you. And for the record, I turned them down. I don’t think I can bring myself to go there with the man. He’s like…” Her noise scrunched. “Like a kindly old grandfather or something.”

“Isn’t that what you told me I reminded you of, when we first met?”

Hermione turned around in the seat to kiss him gently before answering. “We first met when I was 11 and you were over a hundred. You were a twinkling, mad, utterly incomprehensible, meddling, old man with a white beard that was long enough to hide your bits if you did show up naked.” She tugged on his considerably shorter and still auburn beard. “This you is not yet grandfather material.”

“Tell me I at least still had my hair.”

She laughed. “All of it – it was like a lion mane of pearly white cascades. You used these little beaded ribbons to tie it all back. And on one memorable occasion you came to the Great Hall for dinner with the entire thing braided with bright purple cording and little pink ribbons on the end.”

“I did not!”

“You did too.” Hermione smirked. “Apparently you lost a bet with Severus. Although, you didn’t seem terribly self-conscious about it. When Malfoy complimented you in his sarcastic ferret voice you thanked him and wore them again the next day.”

“I am begging to see why you thought I was only attracted to wizards.” Albus came around the lounge to sit next to her. “We can’t sit here driving ourselves crazy waiting on Dippet to call. Remember, even if we do get notice today, we have to appear as if we had no idea it was coming.”

“I can always blame it on arithmancy.”

“Not when you aren’t supposed to be practicing it!” Albus corrected gently. “Do you think Lanky’s ready to take care of him?”

Hermione leaned into him, puling his arms around herself for comfort. “As ready as she can be. She’s very excited about it, and she’s been talking to older elves that have raised infants before for advice. There’s always the nursery of course, but all the other staff’s children are older except for Cara’s youngest and she takes the baby with her nearly everywhere.”

They were interrupted by the sound of their fireplace lighting and they both separated guilty when they saw Armando Dippet’s head appear in the grate. “Albus!” He called before he caught site of the wizard. “Oh, Albus, we have an issue!”

“What is it, Armando? Do you need to step through?” 

“Yes, that would likely be best.” The headmaster’s head disappeared for a moment before he came through, a rather flustered air about him. “There’s something very wrong with the register.” He pronounced. “I might not have caught it, except we put that spell on it for you. I didn’t think we’d have luck, not so quickly…” He shook his head. “I just don’t know what to make of it.”

“What’s happened?” Hermione asked, giving Albus a significant look.

“I don’t know! A name appeared on the register suddenly – which happens rather frequently to be honest. Only as soon as it showed, the custodial information started shifting. It’s going back and forth between his mother, a M. Riddle, and a muggle orphanage, almost as if the spell cannot make up its mind.” Dippet frowned. “I think we’d best go and see what the matter is, Albus. I don’t like this either way. The child’s name appeared within moments of birth! It’s highly unusual for a name to do so that quickly. And I can’t imagine why the custody is fluctuating.”

“I’m coming with you.” Hermione grabbed her wand and her cloak, tossing another to Albus. “Do you know the town? Can we apparate?”

“Yes,” Dippet agreed, following the now rapidly moving couple. “But my dear, I don’t want you to get your hopes up. The child may not be up for adoption. And it is a muggle institution. I’m afraid I don’t know what to expect with them.”

“We will deal with that when we get there.” Albus insisted. 

Armando knew the location of the orphanage from the register and he apparated the three of the them to a street in London. Albus had enough presence of mind to transfigure their clothes into something a little more muggle before they rushed into the dark building.

* * *

The corridors of the building echoed with their footsteps, the dark brown tiles spotlessly clean yet clinically cold. Apparently the orphanage was older then it appeared and was still being converted from gas to electric lighting and many of the fixtures were unlit. They followed the sounds of distress that echoed across the first floor until they found a small infirmary. A group of three muggles, one in the white coat of a doctor and another a starched nurses uniform, were crowded around a bed.

“Mrs. Cole, I’m sorry. I just don’t know what the matter is with her. I’ve tried everything. She’s not hemorrhaging and the birth went easily. I can’t explain why she’s weakening.” A tall man in a doctor’s coat complained to a pinched woman in a plain brown dress. He shifted to the side and Armando let out a distressed sound.

“It’s Merope Gaunt.” He whispered, the sound causing the muggles to turn to them in question.

“Do you know this woman, sir?” The muggle in the plain brown dress asked. “I’m Mrs. Cole and I run Wool’s Orphanage. She stumbled in and we’re trying everything…” 

Armando brushed past her without a word, rushing to the pale drawn woman who lay on the bed, her face twisted with pain. “Merope?” He asked softly, taking her hand. “Oh child, what’s happened?”

She blinked slowly, seeming to have trouble placing him. “Headmaster?” she asked weakly. “How did…”

Hermione grabbed Albus’ arm in alarm. “Albus, her magics run wild. Can’t you feel it?” She turned frightened eyes to the far side of the room where a small crib was placed, a newborn crying desperately inside it. “Dear God, he’s here. They’ve left him in the room with her. She’s killing herself with him here – feeling it. All that Darkness, and him just taking his first breaths…”

Albus brushed past the muggles, Hermione moving with him. The nurse tried to stop them but Hermione waved her hand and the woman’s eyes glazed and she stepped aside. “Get him out of here, Albus.” Hermione hissed. “He’s doing everything he can to get to his mother, he’s confused and terrified and he can _feel her dying_. His magic is unfocused but he’s trying with all his might to get to her – it’s what must have triggered his name in the register. I can feel him tapping into the lay line under the building – or trying to. The poor thing is running on pure instinct and he’s absorbing all her distress.”

Albus hesitated for a second before reaching into the crib to lift out the tiny baby. He was wrapped in a thin blanket, his skin still streaked with blood. “They haven’t even cleaned him.”

The man in a white coat came up. “The mother took a turn as soon as she’d passed the after birth. She named him and we thought everything was all right but as soon as the nurse turned her back something happened. She screamed and now we can’t keep her stable. Her blood pressure keeps dipping and she’s in agony but we can’t find a cause. We put little Tom over here and haven’t had a chance to see to him yet.” He eyed their strange clothes with suspicion. “Do you know Merope Riddle? She was wearing similar clothing when she came in. Mrs. Cole thought she might be from the circus that is visiting.”

“Not exactly.” Hermione improvised. “Merope went to school with me, long ago. I received a letter from her that said she was in trouble. We came as quickly as we could. When I arrived in London the lady she’d rented a room from said she’d come here.” Hermione kept his attention as Albus discreetly turned his back to keep the child from view. He pulled his wand and murmured a gentle cleaning spell and then a strong protective charm to block the magical emanations coming from the dying woman. Hermione continued, “The Headmaster knows her as well.” 

“Why didn’t you come to me, child?” Armando asked as if on queue, from across the room, his voice cracking. “I would have given you shelter at the school. You would not have needed to suffer alone.”

“They don’t want me.” Merope cried. “They struck my name and _he_ cast me out. No one wants me, headmaster. Not even Hogwarts wanted me.”

“That’s not true.” He pleaded. “I fought for you with the governors. I would have paid your tuition but your father wouldn’t hear of it. One year, he said. He only let you come to us for a year. You just needed more time to develop, child. That’s all. You have the talent in you – I could always feel it.”

She made a hissing sound that Hermione recognized as parseltongue, her back arching as another wave of pain washed through her. “Too late. It’s always to late.” She moaned. 

Hermione motioned for Albus to get the baby out of the room and she crossed back over to the poor witche’s beside. Resting on floor next to the bed was a tiny potion bottle. She bent and picked it up, sniffing the contents wearily. “Distilled adder venom, crossed with several other poisons.” Hermione pronounced grimly. “How long has she been like this?” She asked the doctor.

“Two and half, three hours.” He shook his head. “Adder venom? Why the devil would she be carrying that?”

Armando looked up at her, his eyes searching. “Can you do anything? You can and Albus, you’re both good with potions?”

“I’m sorry.” Hermione shook her head, her expression sorrowful. “She’s had too long with it. Even if I had an antidote with me, it’s been far too long to help. It’s not straight venom – she’s amplified it, distilled it down to make it as painful and as deadly as possible.”

“I deserve to suffer.” Merope cried. “I did this to Tom. I did. I ruined his life and now mine is forfeit. I just hope the baby looks like him, a son I won’t taint.”

“Merope…” Armando clutched her hand. “Dear girl. Your father was a brute and your brother no better. I should have done more for you, but they fought me at every turn. The Ministry wouldn’t allow me to keep you against their will.”

“It’s alright, Headmaster.” She smiled eerily, her drawn features making the expression look sinister. “I was barely a witch and we hadn’t the money to pay.”

“Doesn’t matter.” He insisted. “You are my great-granddaughter!”

Hermione sucked in a startled breath, Albus coming up behind her. “You didn’t know?” He asked gently and she shook her head. 

“Where’s Tom?”

“I took him to the far side of the building along with the nurse. I warded the room tightly. I’ll return to him shortly but I wanted to make sure you were alright.”

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut as Merope let out another agonized cry. “She took the most painful poison she could concoct, Albus. It’s slow acting and I know of no antidote.” She shivered violently. “I’ll stay here with Armando. Can you make sure he’s alright?”

“He responded to me as soon as I extended my magic.” Albus whispered. “He’s desperate to cling to someone. I have half a mind to grab him and disapparate to Hogwarts. Even threw my warding I fear he can feel this happening. He is very sensitive.”

“Do it.” Hermione ordered softly.

“What about the muggles?”

“I’ll take care of it. Just get him out of here. Send Lestrange back if you can.” Hermione started forward, moving back to the bedside when Albus’ hand on her arm stopped her. 

“You don’t intend to hurt them do you?”

Hermione’s eyes hardened. “I don’t intend to do them lasting harm, Albus. But they’ll all have to be Obliviated and I’m sure that Armando will want to avoid Ministry entanglements. Magnus will be able to help me with it. I dare say he and I are probably the only two at Hogwarts with unregistered wands. We can’t afford for either you or Armando’s magical signatures to be on this should the Ministry ever have cause to investigate. Now get out of here. I confounded that nurse once tonight already. Just send her back here for a bottle or something and I’ll handle her.”

Albus reluctantly left her and she turned her attention back to the display before her. The muggles were watching with confusion as Armando tried spell after spell to ease his great-granddaughter’s pain with no effect. Hermione walked slowly to other side of the bed and knelt, placing one hand gently on her forehead and another over her heart. She closed her eyes and focused, willing the erratic witch’s magic to calm. The light in the room increased as she worked, Merope’s wild magic having suppressed the very atmosphere of the orphanage in her despair.

Merope’s tremors calmed slightly and her breathing evened and Hermione withdrew her hands to find Armando staring at her in shock. “It’s all I can do.” She said quietly. “I can’t keep her under for long, sir.”

“If we get her to St. Mungos…”

“It won’t help.” Hermione insisted softly. “She’s mixed adder venom with aconite and oleander. Not even a bezoar couldn’t have saved her. The best I can do is stave off her pain for a short time.”

“She didn’t deserve this. If I’d known…”

Hermione cast a cleaning spell to rid the bed linens of the sweat and blood that accumulated on them and then conjured a warm bowl of water and began gently swabbing the young woman’s forehead. She heard the pop of apparition as Lestrange arrived and only gave him a small nod in greeting before he silently handled the muggles, herding them into a back room before Obliviating them. “It wasn’t your fault.” Hermione reminded the headmaster, her own stomach twisting with guilt. She’d known Merope Riddle-nee-Gaunt had died shortly after giving birth, but she’s no idea it had been like this – or that she was in any way connected to the Headmaster. 

The poison was malicious and what little Hermione had managed with her channeling of magic gave way to the inevitable and Merope’s body twisted with another convulsion. “Can’t we do anything for her?” he asked, his voice breaking.

Hermione closed her eyes. “I can end it.” She offered quietly. 

Armando was blinking back tears when she opened her eyes again. He couldn’t form the words, but he nodded, his hand tightening on the dying woman’s. 

“The fastest and most painless way isn’t legal.” Hermione warned. “I can do it differently, but…”

“I don’t want her to suffer anymore.” Dippet acknowledged, reluctantly letting go of her hand, knowing without being told which spell it was she alluded to and how it wasn’t safe to be touching the Victim when cast. “Can you do it?”

“Yes.” Hermione admitted, standing and taking a small step back from the bed. “ _Avada Kedavra_ ” she whispered, her wand steady. There was a small flash of green and Merope Riddle was gone.


	22. Unleashed

Albus held the small babe in his arms and tried to calm his franticly beating heart. Little Tom Riddle was only hours old, yet his magic was already so near the surface it prickled against Albus’ senses. The little scrunched face was red and blotched and Albus wasn’t sure if that was normal or not. He’d left Hermione to deal with the muggles and Dippet, and he’d sent Lestrange after them as soon as he’d made it inside the castle gates. Apparently the wizard had sensed a disturbance in the magical currents and had been waiting for him, pacing agitatedly just inside the doors. 

Hermione had taught him a bit about deliberately feeling another’s magic, and about releasing his own, and he let his magic out now, consciously attempting to wrap it around the tiny baby. He vaguely recalled the feeling of his own mother’s instinctual magic, how it used to surround him like a blanket when he was small and troubled and he attempted to mimic that now. 

“It’s all right, Tom.” He soothed. “I’m here now. I won’t let anything harm you, little one. Your mother wasn’t well, dear heart. But I’ve got you, and Hermione and I, we’ll take good care of you.” He knew the infant couldn’t understand him but the words gave _him_ comfort to say, so he continued to utter promises as he held the boy tightly to him. Lanky watched the proceedings from the side of the room, her little ears dropping down in alarm and forced inaction. Albus had had her make up a bottle, but he couldn’t get the baby to take it. 

Little Tom’s eyes were wide and searching, as if he knew that his mother was absent and Albus couldn’t help tearing at the thought. The agonized screams of his mother in her self-induced poisoning had been his first sounds. Albus wondered if she’d even bothered to hold him once before she’d downed the potion. Such a sensitive infant, his magic had known instantly, even seconds after birth, that something was very wrong and Albus’ heart fluttered at the realization that the boy very well might have spent days or weeks in the womb as his mother plotted her own demise, her magic unstable and lashing out at her own child still inside her. 

He’d sent for Cara Sprout and one of his 7th year Gryffindors was out retrieving her. He had no idea how long it would take Hermione and Dippet to return, and little hope that they would know any better what to do with so young a babe. The school nurse was a spinster, and had never delivered a baby. While she most likely had some training in the matter, Albus preferred to take advice from someone with more experience, and Cara Sprout met that criteria in spades. Not only had she her own children, but she’d functioned as a midwife to the village for the last several years.

His door banged open and Cara ran in, her dressing gown tied haphazardly. “Albus, is it true? You found a orphan babe already?”

He turned to face her, the small bundle in his arms shifting as Tom let out a distressed cry, his tiny bent limbs stretching against the blanket in anguish. “Cara, I’ don’t know what to do for him.” Albus fearfully admitted. “Hermione and Armando are still at the orphanage. It was Armando’s great-granddaughter, Cara. She gave birth and then…she took a vial of poison. Hermione’s trying to do what she can to make her comfortable.”

Cara’s breath caught. “The poor thing! Did he even suckle before she did it?” She held out her arms.

“No.” Albus handed the child over gently. “They hadn’t even cleaned him when we arrived. She was in her death throws and Hermione said he could feel her, their magics were still linked, and they’d just tossed him to the side, in the same room.”

“Muggles.” Cara spat the word. “No sense. Leaving a magical babe next to it’s dying mother. He must have felt everything she did. I wouldn’t be surprised if it doesn’t affect his magic later.”

“Her magic was unstable.” Albus confessed. “It was affecting the entire building, like a blanket of despair. I had to get him out of there. I finally got him calmed down, but I don’t know what to do now. He wouldn’t take the bottle.”

“Well we’re lucky I’m still nursing.” Cara waved a hand at him. “Turn around, you. We’ll see if I can wet nurse him for now. If he won’t take to breast we’ll have a fight to save him. Unfortunately magical infants don’t fare nearly as well on bottle as muggle and there’s always a risk of one following the mother past the Veil for no reason we can find other than heart break. I imagine it has to do with sympathetic magics, but I’m no expert.”

Albus kept his awareness extended, his magic still wrapped around the babe. He could feel Cara’s lighter touch as she tried a similar thing – most likely unconsciously. “There, he’s got it.” Cara sighed in relief. “He’s a fighter this one.”

“You can’t do this forever. How do we get him on a bottle?”

Cara made a small sound of dismissal. “Let me get him through the first 24 hours, Albus. We’ll figure something else out at that point. If you and Hermione end up keeping him, which if this is Armando’s great-great-grandson I expect he’ll want you to, then a healer can help her to induce milk if she’s a mind. If not, we’ll see if we can get him onto muggle formula.”

Cara had just finished feeding him and carefully cleaning the child from what had escaped Albus’ gentle spell when Hermione, Armando, and Lestrange returned. The three were grim as they entered the quarters and Hermione collapsed onto the lounge in a trembling pile.

“She over did it and almost had another episode.” Lestrange admonished. “Trying to contain that woman’s wild magic was rather an effort. It’s a good thing you got the babe out of there when you did, Albus. It got uglier.”

Armando sank down into a chair, his head in his hands, his hat long forgotten.   
“I don’t understand how this happened… _why_ this happened. Merope could have come to me! I wouldn’t have turned her away. I don’t care if the child’s a halfblood, for Merlin’s sake!”

“Her father and brother rejected her.” Hermione whispered. “Then, when her husband cast her out, she just broke. She blamed herself and I think,” Hermione took a shuddering breath. “I think she thought if she killed herself she’d save the baby from having such a worthless mother.”

“She wasn’t worthless!” Armando cried.

“I know.” Hermione agreed softly. “But everyone that should have loved her told her she was until she believed it. She thought Tom would be better off without her. I don’t think she understood what she was doing.”

Lestrange nodded. “She wasn’t trained, Armando. She didn’t realize what her magic was doing to herself, the babe, or the orphanage. Her depression was affecting the entire place. If Hermione and I hadn’t arrived it’s likely an air of misery would have taken hold of the very bricks and left a taint there for years to come. That babe would have not only felt his mother’s horrific death, he would have had to grow up awash in the echoes of it.”

Cara gave a shuddering sob. “Oh, I can’t imagine what that would do to any child. But this one, you can feel his magic, Magnus. He’s going to be very powerful.”

Hermione’s head jerked at that, her expression fluttering for a moment between anger and hurt before she closed it off. Albus and Lestrange shared a meaningful look before Albus took the boy back and held him close. Tom’s tiny fingers were curling and uncurling against the blanket and his blue eyes were still wide and frightened. “I don’t know how to undo what’s happened.” Albus whispered. “How do we make it right for him?”

Armando stood and joined him, staring down at his great-great-grandson. “We do what we can to see that he grows up as loved as poor Merope should have been.” The elderly wizards voice hardened. “And I make sure her miserable excuse for a father and brother never see the light of day again. When her mother died I tried to take Merope in. I offered, I _begged_ them, to let me raise her here. That arrogant inbred idiot refused. They beat her and harassed her until she was little better than a squib. I managed to get them to agree to sending her here for a single year, bribed the governors to admit her even though her magic wasn’t strong. It took months before she could manage a single spell. If I’d had more time… she wasn’t a squib.” He insisted. “She _wasn’t._ ”

“Obviously not, or we would not be having this conversation.” Lestrange agreed. “Likely the abuse caused her magic to turn in on itself. What we felt tonight was an explosion of all that pent up energy.”

Albus hung his head, thoughts of his sister causing him to shudder. “We must be able to do more for children like Merope.” _and Ariana_ he thought to himself.

Hermione stood up shakily next to him. “Some mechanism to remove battered children from their abuser would be a start.”

“The Ministry refuses to be involved.” Armando stated grimly. “They claim they cannot become entangled in House politics.” He ran a finger gently over the infant’s brow. “He is so small and delicate.” He looked back up, tears in his eyes. “Will you still take him, Albus? Even knowing what his mother’s done? I think he deserves a real family, after all this.”

“Of course.” Albus clutched the babe tighter. “How could I not?”

Armando placed a hand carefully on the child’s head and closed his eyes. “We’ll see you have a better life than your mother, precious thing. I swear it.”

* * *

Cara stayed with them for the next two days, alternating between nursing her own baby and Tom. Albus hadn’t mentioned a healer to Hermione, and Cara seemed to sense that there was something more going on there then she knew and kept her peace. Armando summoned one hours after they’d arrived and Healer Monroe said that physically little Tom Riddle was in perfect condition. He was on the small side but nothing worrying and he praised Cara for her quick thinking. Monroe’s eyes had flickered to Hermione in question but Albus had waved him off. Now was not the time.

They managed to get him switched to a bottle with difficulty, his little face screwing up in displeasure the first few times they tried. Eventually Cara managed it, and returned back to her own family. Armando had already arranged to have all Albus’ classes covered for the next few weeks, and Hermione had been excused from hers.

She hadn’t held the baby.

Albus knew that the others had noticed it, but they made no comment. From the sad expression in Cara’s eyes, he supposed they thought it was pain over never having one of her own that plagued his young wife. In truth, he knew that Hermione _couldn’t_ hold him – not yet. When she looked at the tiny innocent child she was seeing the face of Voldemort and in a way he was glad she hadn’t tried. Tom was still experiencing the after affects of his mother’s magical out letting and was highly sensitive to changes in mood and magical energies. Even the smallest spell caused the child to cry as if burned. Lanky dare not even go near him, her magical nature being so obviously different from a wizard. Only Albus and Cara seemed to be able to hold him without the babe crying out in alarm. If Hermione went to hold him, and the child sensed her intense dislike, it would do him more harm than good. There was no chance of Albus even brining up the option for her to see the healer about magically inducing milk.

In a way he could understand her reaction, but a part of him was angry. This had been her idea, to raise the child. And while he knew it would be difficult for her, he’d never imagined she was so ill prepared emotionally to follow through.

He caught her one night, a week later, standing in the shadows next to the crib, her wand held in one shaking hand and staring down into the crib, silent tears running down her cheeks. Tom was awake, his eyes unfocused yet franticly scanning, sensing the threat but unable to locate it.

“It would be so easy.” She whispered as she sensed him approach. “Just two words… or even without magic. So easy to just make sure it _never happens._ ”

Albus approached her slowly. “Tom is not Voldemort, Hermione. He hasn’t done anything. He’s just a poor babe with no mother.”

“She’s planted the seed in him.” Hermione’s voice was hallow. “At his very birth she drowned him in Dark Magic, bathed him in hopelessness and despair. He’ll never recover. He’ll be just as evil as he ever was.”

“No.” Albus insisted, letting no doubt creep into his voice. “We got there in time, Hermione. We got him out and he’s surrounded by people who can care for him. He will never know what it’s like to be unloved or unwanted.”

Hermione’s wand quivered as she raised it and Albus’ breath caught. “I can’t take that chance.” Her eyes gleamed in the pale light from the moon outside, wild with fear and self-loathing. “I can’t risk it.” She raised the wand higher, and he could hear her struggling to pronounce the words of that dreaded spell.

Albus held perfectly still until, with a cry, Hermione dropped her wand and fell to the floor, sobs wrenching from her throat that tore his heart to hear. He knelt down with her and pulled her into his arms, rocking her back and forth. 

He felt a slight prickle in their wards and looked up to find Lestrange standing there. The elderly wizard acknowledged him with a slow incline of his head before he bent into the crib and picked up the child. Tom was still eerily silent, as if he sensed how dangerous Hermione was at the moment. Lestrange took him out without a word and left Hermione still unaware in Albus’ arms.

She cried until her body couldn’t produce more tears and then she still shook, her diaphragm spasming in great heaving waves of pent up fear and anger. Albus could do nothing but hold her and let it happen. He could feel her magic swirling, nearly as oppressive as Merope’s had been and sent a silent thank you to forces of magic that had alerted Lestrange in time to remove the babe. Their rooms were warded tightly so the school itself should not feel the vibrations as Hermione’s own pain was so brutally exposed, but the child would have suffered had he remained. Eventually she calmed, falling into an exhausted unconsciousness that Albus feared to call sleep.

He managed to carry her back to her room and lay down with her. He hoped his own magic would be enough to clam her and he called forth as much of it as he could. She moved closer to him, her body seeking out solace and he kissed the top of her head and let his own tears fall into the wild curls. 

He would do anything to take this pain from her – and it was as she trembled, her grief even apparent in unconsciousness, that he realized he’d come to love this odd witch with her bushy hair and her penitent for books that rivaled his own. He wanted her to know love and happiness as much he wanted it for Tom and he had no idea how to make that happen for either of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Hermione nearly killed him. She can barely stand to look at him. And can you really blame her, after all she's been through?
> 
> Angst fest next chapter as Hermione must come to terms with a great many things.


	23. Be All My Sins Remembered

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be, or not to be, that is the question—  
> Whether 'tis Nobler in the mind to suffer  
> The Slings and Arrows of outrageous Fortune,  
> Or to take Arms against a Sea of troubles,  
> And by opposing end them? To die, to sleep—  
> No more; and by a sleep, to say we end  
> The Heart-ache, and the thousand Natural shocks  
> That Flesh is heir to? 'Tis a consummation  
> Devoutly to be wished. To die, to sleep,  
> To sleep, perchance to Dream; Aye, there's the rub,  
> For in that sleep of death, what dreams may come,  
> When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,  
> Must give us pause. There's the respect  
> That makes Calamity of so long life:  
> For who would bear the Whips and Scorns of time,  
> The Oppressor's wrong, the proud man's Contumely,  
> The pangs of despised Love, the Law’s delay,  
> The insolence of Office, and the Spurns  
> That patient merit of the unworthy takes,  
> When he himself might his Quietus make  
> With a bare Bodkin? Who would Fardels bear,  
> To grunt and sweat under a weary life,  
> But that the dread of something after death,  
> The undiscovered Country, from whose bourn  
> No Traveler returns, Puzzles the will,  
> And makes us rather bear those ills we have,  
> Than fly to others that we know not of.  
> Thus Conscience does make Cowards of us all,  
> And thus the Native hue of Resolution  
> Is sicklied o'er, with the pale cast of Thought,  
> And enterprises of great pitch and moment,  
> With this regard their Currents turn awry,  
> And lose the name of Action. Soft you now,  
> The fair Ophelia? Nymph, in thy Orisons  
> Be all my sins remembered.
> 
> -Hamlet

Hermione felt numb. 

Magnus Lestrange had returned Tom to Albus in the morning and the babe had cooed in delight as he’d felt his adoptive father’s arms around him again, his little hand reaching up to tug on the wizard’s beard. The wizard and the infant had developed a nearly palpable bond in the days following their rescue from the orphanage and Albus’ bright twinkling smile was never fuller than when he held the child.

Hermione had turned and left the room at the sight. 

She _knew_ it wasn’t the baby that caused the war, that had killed her friends and her loved ones, that had nearly ended the _world_. She knew it wasn’t Voldemort that slept in that crib, that was even now making happy baby gurgles in the arms of a laughing Albus Dumbledore. Hermione knew the baby was not the same wizard with the red eyes and the bifurcated soul.

Knowing it and coping with it were apparently two separate things.

There was little for it other than to return to her classes and her work, try to find a way to see the babe as something other than the monster that haunted her still. That, and make sure Albus never left her alone with him long enough to be tempted.

Cara was trying to be understanding, but a distance had grown between them in the two weeks since Tom’s birth. She and the Headmaster both were confused about Hermione’s place in the child’s life and Hermione knew that soon they would be questioning why she and Albus had not preformed a full blood adoption on the child. Of course, they could always say they hadn’t so that Armando could still claim the child or to honor Merope – but the truth was, Hermione just couldn’t bring herself to do it.

A blood adoption would for all intents and purposes erase Tom Riddle, son of Merope and Thomas Riddle and rebuild a new babe – half Hermione, half Albus. His features would change. His build would alter. Hermione suspected that even genetically there would be changes, if she’d had any way to test it in the era they were in. But it wouldn’t change the core. He would still _be_ Tom Riddle – even if they renamed him. His soul, Hermione guessed you could call it, would remain unchanged. His magic, his personality – that would not be affected by the ritual. Only the physical – the noticeable part that would make everyone realize whose son it was they were looking at.

Albus didn’t want to erase Tom’s past. She could see it in his eyes and if the book on blood adoption rituals on their end table was any sign, he wasn’t planning on it. He was researching modified spells, rituals that would allow the adoption to take place, adding in pieces of both of them without removing Merope or Riddle from him completely. Had it been any other child, Hermione would find his care in this touching. As it was, she wasn’t sure how she felt. Mostly she was ill at the thought of being tied to the Dark Lord as his _mother_. 

It was something she and Severus had discussed and they’d decided not to do a blood adoption. Severus hadn’t wanted to inflict Snape genetics on anyone, even the Dark Lord, and she’d…been ill at the thought. Like she was now. Albus, however, had been raised in the wizarding world and one _did not_ just raise another family’s child without such measures. The adoption would insure the continuation of the Dumbledore line. How could she deny him that?

So she said nothing and left him to his research. She tried to swallow all her misgivings, all her anger, and tried as hard as she could to pretend that everything was fine. She returned to her normal schedule and devoted herself to her studies with near frantic attention. Nicolas was watching her wearily, as if he knew something was the matter, but either Albus had asked him not to inquire or the elderly alchemist had gained enough wisdom in his long years to know when to leave a witch alone. 

Galatea Merrythought was one of the few people in the castle who didn’t seem to think Hermione was insane for not wanting to spend every moment with a screaming infant. Galatea welcomed her back to the DADA classes as if she’d never left. She’d even taken to going over lesson plans in advance and asking Hermione’s opinion on how to introduce certain topics. Prof. Merrythought had years of experience working in warding and defense theory, but she’d spent very little time on the battlefield when compared to her new student and she welcomed the pragmatic approach Hermione brought to the lessons. 

Today’s lesson was on Advanced Dark Arts Curses, defenses from to be specific. Hermione had always suspected that their rapid turn over in professors during her school years, and general lack of competent instruction in the topic, had caused deviations from the standard curriculum. Apparently, Unforgivable weren’t part of the 4th year standard, but rather the 7th. Merrythought had hesitantly asked if Hermione had any first hand knowledge of them, since they weren’t outright illegal in most of Eastern Europe. Hermione had forgotten that prior to the fall of Grindelwald most of the magical world hadn’t caught on to the British style of classifying spells as Dark, Light, or Grey and rather looked at the action itself for criminal intent. Because of this, Merrythought had assumed Hermione would have experience casting spells that the British witch had never dared try. Of course, Hermione _did_ have that experience, in spades. At first she was reluctant to help but Merrythought made a passionate argument that the students _needed_ to understand – because without understanding it would be incredibly easy for them to either fall victim to, or be tempted by, the darkest arts. Hermione had grudgingly agreed.

Hermione unenthusiastically found her seat on the front right side of the 7th year Gryffindor/Slytherin class and steeled herself for what she knew would be a trying lesson. The way many of the students acted, they had no expectation to ever need Defense, and they treated most of the lessons as if they were the ramblings of a paranoid fear monger. Merrythought had asked for her help to convince them of how serious the lesson was, and while Hermione knew how important it was to prepare people, especially these people, for the real world (and the war she couldn’t tell them was coming), a part of her hated to end their innocence. She could still remember the shock and the horror of that long ago lesson with the fake Moody and while these children were considerably older than she had been, they were also considerably softer. Hers was a generation born into war and while their early childhoods had been peaceful, the wizarding generation that bore them had instilled a weary sense of self-preservation into all their offspring that these students lacked. There hadn’t been a Dark Lord in Britain for generations. Most thought it was no longer possible. And with the exception of the handful of muggleborns and muggle raised in the room, these children had never known the hardships born of conflict.

“We’re covering Unforgivables today.” Prof. Merrythought ground out. “Now, have any of you experienced one?”

Hermione dutifully raised her hand and all the eyes in the room snapped to her. Only one other hand raised, from a Slytherin boy that looked like he’d rather be anywhere else.

“Poxtred,” Merrythought called on the boy, “Enlighten us. What was it?”

Poxtred shivered. “My father wanted to make sure I could recognize the Imperius Curse, ma’am. He taught me how to fight it off.”

“Good lad.” Merrythought nodded approvingly. “For of those of you too lazy to read the book, the Imperius Curse allows someone to control you. It’s wickedly devious and most find it impossible to resist it – especially if the wizard or witch casting it is fairly powerful. It’s a hard spell to use and relays on subtly of spellwork as well as sheer power to go undetected. A shoddy Imperius is obvious to the trained eye. A subtle one can go unnoticed by outside parties for years. You see, unlike other Dark spells, it doesn’t cause physical pain – in fact, according to most accounts it is a pleasurable experience, often intensely so. Complying with commands gives the victim a sense of happiness and a gratifying physical sensation. Resistance, however, can, in cases of extremely powerful casters, cause brain damage and leave the victim in agony. Only wizards or witches with a firm grasp of their power and a strong will can resist it.”

She turned to Hermione. “Mrs. Dumbledore, what have you experienced?”

“All three, in one way or another.” Hermione replied evenly and the class gasped. She couldn’t help a pang of grief at the thought of Harry. “They aren’t considered Unforgivable by the Romanian Ministry.”

“How can you have experienced the Killing Curse and be alive?” a girl piped up. Hermione didn’t bother turning to see which one.

“I’ve cast it.” Hermione replied evenly. “As I said, they aren’t automatically illegal where I come from. And in a real fight, I’ve no intention of leaving an opponent to be rennervated by his comrade so he can attack me again from behind. In fact, I’ve preformed all three and I’ve survived having all of them cast at me – although I’ve never been hit with the Killing Curse, obviously. I lost count of how many I’ve dodged over the years. Typical shields are useless against one, but I’ve found that using another fallen fighter works surprisingly well if you can’t get out of the way in time. A hasty transfiguration can also block it, if you’ve done a good job on making it solid. ”

Merrythought even looked a little pale as Hermione detailed how to levitate a dead body into the path of an oncoming curse. “Of course,” she added “if you can shove an opponent into the way while still alive, it’s always a bonus. Saves you the magical energy to cast it yourself, and it demoralizes the enemy to have their ally taken down by friendly fire.” Hermione held eye contact with the handful of students that had the courage to stare at her. 

“That’s not good sportsmanship!” One of the Gryffindors protested. “The rules of a duel say you can’t use objects, and especially people- whether alive or dead-, as shields.”

“If you are ever unlucky enough to face a real duel, where rules aren’t in place, you do whatever it takes to survive.” Merrythought interjected. “Mrs. Dumbledore has had to face situations you lot will probably be lucky enough to never see. But if you do, take her advice. You may want to stand up and take a good jinx or two like a man, but _no one_ expects you to hold your place in the face of the Killing Curse. You come up against someone willing and able to cast it, you’d better run like a bloody coward. It takes a lot of energy to cast that curse and if they are doing it in battle, than you _do not_ want to duel them alone. Even trained aurors take back up against someone that can cast multiple Avada Kedavras in a row. The Unforgivables are in a class by themselves because they take so much magical energy to maintain and because they have such devastating effect on the victims. While Avada Kedavra will kill you, it does it quickly. The others, in my researched opinion, are far worse.”

“Is the Cruciatus really as painful as they say?” A small voice asked suddenly from the last row. “My grandfather’s an auror and he spent nearly a month in St. Mungos last year from it. Mother said it was like being hit by lightening.”

Hermione was about to answer when a snort from another of the Gryffindor boys, who she recognized as the team Quidditch Keeper, stopped her.

“It can’t be that bad. I mean, I bet I could handle it.” He smirked. “Probably just too much for an old wizard to take. I hear its not nearly as wicked as they make it sound and it wouldn’t even be considered that Dark if they invented it today. It’s only ‘cause it was made Unforgivable back before we had better curses.”

Hermione’s jaw tightened and she and Merrythought exchanged a look. Hermione stood slowly, her chair scraping across the stones. “You think so?”

“Come on, if you could handle it, such a tiny witch, it can’t be that bad of a curse.” He drawled. “It’s ancient. There’s loads better ones now. I mean, it doesn’t even make you bleed.”

Hermione turned to him, her wand falling out of her sleeve into her hand. “Would you like to test your theory?” She asked, eyeing him coldly. 

He didn’t seem to understand the threat. “Why not? Only it’s illegal here, in case you weren’t aware. So too bad.”

“Oh, but there are loop holes.” Hermione leaned against the desk, crossing her arms and tapping her wand against her shoulder. “You see, if you authorize me to cast it on you, for educational purposes, it’s totally legal. Isn’t it Prof. Merrythought?”

“Yes, yes it is. Are you authorizing your classmate to preform it, Baggins?”

“Yeah, sure, like she can.” He laughed, turning to his mates and getting ready to make another flippant comment. 

“ _Crucio_.” 

He fell hard, his screams echoing around the classroom. Hermione stood calmly in her seat, her wand extended almost lazily as she cast. She held the spell for 30 seconds, her expression passive, before she lowered her wand and ended it. “That was not full strength.” She offered tightly as Baggins moaned and struggled to get to his knees, urine soaking his robes and a trickle of blood at the corner of his mouth where he’d bitten his tongue. “I kept it relatively light, Baggins, and for half a minute. I’ve been under that curse over 20 times by wizards whose power level would make you quake.” Hermione sneered. “My personal record is lasting for over 3 minutes under it . My late husband even taught himself not to scream and _he_ managed to last for nearly 17 minutes the last time, before his heart gave out. He never uttered a sound, wouldn’t give them the satisfaction. So the next time you question whether or not a spell is as ‘bad’ as it sounds, I want you to remember what this felt like.” She cast another quick burst, only a second in duration, that brought Baggins back down to the floor, his scream echoing off the classroom walls long after she’d ended it. She waited until he managed to contain himself to painful moans before retuning her wand to her sleeve and taking her seat. “Remember what that felt like before you go shooting off that infernal mouth of yours.”

“Anybody else have a stupid comment to make?” Merrythought asked, her tone carefully bright. “No?” She looked around the room before waving her wand to clean up Baggins’ mess. “All right then. Baggins, take your chair. You’ll report to the infirmary after class, but I want you to sit there and hear the rest of this. There’s little they can do for you anyway other than hot compresses and massage – and trust me, it’s not bloody helpful.”

The class was wide-eyed and fearful, some of them openly crying, as Merrythought took them through each of the Unforgivables in depth while Baggins sat pale and shaking in his seat, held up mostly by his friends. Hermione sat there through the rest of the lesson without saying a word. She didn’t even flinch as the professor tested the Imperius on her classmates one by one. When her turn came she shook it off like water and when the period ended she stood and left the room. The others watched her go, their faces showing a mixture of apprehension and downright fear.

* * *

Lestrange found her hours later, sitting in the Astronomy Tour and staring out the window towards the forest. 

“I heard you gave a powerful object lesson to a pompous 7th year for Galatea.” He said neutrally as he conjured a chair and took a seat.

“He’s lucky I didn’t make him do worse than piss himself.” Hermione said evenly. “That kind of arrogance will get not only him killed, but anyone he goes out in the field with. Did you know he’d applied for the auror program and had already been accepted, contingent on his NEWTs? I heard him bragging about it in the hall last week.”

“Still, you gave him two rounds. I think the first was most likely sufficient.”

“The second was to cement the memory.” Hermione turned to look at him, her eyes blank. “Did you come here to chastise me?”

“No.” Lestrange held his hands up in a placating gesture. “It’s never easy for one of our kind to cast that curse. It takes a lot of negative emotions to form the requisite magics and it’s not something a warrior of the light can do normally. I just wanted to make sure your were alright.”

“I’m not going Dark, if that’s your fear.” Hermione turned back towards the window. “I was able to cast it because I knew they _had_ to be made to understand. It was to protect them. Baggins being made an example of may just keep the rest from using it, or from taking it lightly. Same as Merrythought subjecting them to an _Imperio_.”

“Apparently they were quite impressed that you threw it off so quickly. Just you and that Slytherin boy managed it.” Lestrange shook his head. “It’s a pity we can’t do it several times, get them all a little practice.”

“We used to cast it at each other randomly.” Hermione said softly. “One time, Draco caught me on the toilet. Of course, I got him back the next week and hit him with one while he was buggering Harry.”

Lestrange’s eyebrow went up at her language but he made no comment. She continued, “After months of that I got to be rather good at it. I got rather good at a lot of things.” Hermione picked absently at a thread loose on her robes. “I got good at working through pain and fear. I got used to humiliation and lack of control. It’s easy to resist torture when you’ve already been beaten and degraded so many times it’s almost expected. Even when Malfoy raped me it was hard to feel anything. Now I’m here, in this place, with these _children_.” Hermione looked up, her eyes hard. “What am I doing here, Magnus? What the hell is someone like me doing in a place like this – trying to raise a child with _Albus fucking Dumbledore_. I may be _gwawr angau_ but I’ve done things, _survived_ things I can’t even bring myself to tell my husband about. He looks at me and he wants to _protect_ me. _I’m_ not the one that needs protected.”

“Do you think that man will care less if he knows?” Lestrange asked, curious. “He carries a load of guilt the size of Olympus. He questions his own worthiness on an hourly basis. Yet he’s putting that aside for the sake of your mission, for _you_. This may have started out as marriage of convenience, but I don’t need to be Legilimency master to see that he’s come to honestly care for you. And he’s fallen in love with that child. Don’t ask him to give it up now.”

“I’m not – I couldn’t. Albus is the best chance Tom has.” Hermione brushed a tear away angrily. “I’m just not sure my being here will aid the cause.”

“So you are planning on running off, is that it? Dump the child on him and take to the hills?” Lestrange stood up, his expression thunderous. “You’d be a foul to do so, and it would fly in the face of every vow you took as _gwawr angau_. _Feel_ the currents, _listen_ to your magic, witch. You don’t need an arithmancy chamber to sense the path you need to take, not in this. Whatever your coming back here has done, it can’t be _undone_. You are now part of the events, part of the nexus that surrounds Dumbledore. You may not be able to interfere with Grindelwald, but you are _meant_ to interfere with Albus Dumbledore. If you abandon him now all your work will be for nothing.”

“How can I love them?” Hermione screamed. “How can I return their affection when I have nothing left? When I can feel _nothing_?!” Her magic broke from her in a gush of cold air and the scattered leaves in the tower room picked up in a swirl. “He _died_ here, did you know that? Severus cast the Killing Curse to save Draco and Albus fell dead from this very window!” She pointed back at it, tears streaking down her face. “Harry watched him fall and I saw his crumpled body on the ground, helped to carry it inside. I sat and cried at his tomb. All because of _that_ baby, the baby he read _A Tale of Three Brothers_ to last night.”

Lestrange stared at her for a long moment. “The Hallows played a part in all this didn’t they? They aren’t just legend.”

Hermione took a shuddering breath, her hand going to her beaded bag. She reached inside and pulled out a black leather pouch and tossed it at his feet. Lestrange bent and picked it up, enlarging it. It opened wide and he pulled a cloak, a ring, and an oddly shaped wand from inside the magically expanded space. “Is this…?” he asked softly.

“Fat lot of good they ever did.” Hermione glared at them. “Albus had the wand, will have the wand… I don’t know how that will work. The current wand should be with Grindelwald…”

“There can’t be two of them.” Lestrange muttered. “And if you’re the Master of Death,”

Hermione cut him off. “There is no Master of Death. Uniting the Hallows only gives you an invisibility cloak, a treacherous wand, and a ring that allows you to talk to the dead. They make you a target nothing more. The legend is true in that they exist, but there is no magical occurrence, no convergence of power, _nothing changes_ when you hold all three. All it let us do was send me back here, let me control the Death Magic enough to kill my best friend and force open a gateway.” Hermione grabbed the items back and shoved them angrily into the pouch before tossing it back into her bag. “Don’t you see? Having these didn’t save Albus, or Draco, or Harry. What good does my having them do? Voldemort spent his life, and the lives of everyone that he came across, trying to become immortal. The Hallows should have been our weapon against him, the tool that finally took him down. But what good did they do? We weren’t strong enough even with them to stop him. Now…now Albus is sitting down there in our rooms _instructing a future Dark Lord about the Hallows_!”

“He isn’t a future Dark Lord.” Lestrange insisted, his tone uncompromising. “You saved him from that. All it took was getting him out of that orphanage, away from his mother’s pain. You succeeded, Hermione. It’s over. There will _never be a Dark Lord Voldemort_. That battle is finished. You can stop fighting it.”

“It’s all I’ve ever done.” Hermione confessed weakly. “It’s all I know how to do. I fight. I survive. What do I do if He’s gone?”

“You live.” Lestrange replied. “Hermione, it’s time you _live_.”


	24. Prophecy

Albus had just put Tom to bed when Hermione returned to their chambers. He’d heard about the incident in the Defense class from both Galatea and Baggins and while he would never condone using such a curse on a student – twice – he could understand why both Hermione and Galatea claimed it was necessary. He turned, intending to take her to task over it, when he caught sight of her.

She looked horrible. Her eyes were red and her face was marked with tracks from her tears. Her hair was wind swept and her robes were rumbled and covered with dust. She was trembling slightly, as she stood in the middle of their sitting room, her face pale and haunted. When she spoke, it was as if each word was wrenched from her against her will.

“The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches ... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies ... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not ... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives ... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies ..."

“What?” Albus asked, confused.

“The prophecy that started it.” Hermione replied softly, not moving from her place in the middle of the room. “Harry was the boy it referred to. And the power he knew not,” Hermione reached into the beaded purse that always hung at her belt and pulled out a black pouch. She enlarged it and reached inside to pull out three items which she crossed the room to lay down side by side on his desk. “The Deathly Hallows.”

Albus couldn’t breath, staring down at them. His hand hovered over the ring, the stone cracked through the center. With difficulty he wrenched his hand back, clutching it to his chest. “What? How?”

“You thought it was _love_.” Hermione laughed bitterly. “Or at least, that’s what you told Harry. You said it was love that Voldemort couldn’t comprehend, had never known, and that would be what we would use to defeat him. I suppose, in a way, it’s equally true.”

“I don’t understand.”

“There’s no great trick to the Hallows.” Hermione stated hollowly, ignoring her husband’s question. “When brought together they are still essentially just a cloak, a stone, and a wand. To be a Master of Death doesn’t grant you immortality or immense power. All it does it let you make a terrible choice.” She held his gaze, her expression dark and troubled. “You see, Harry was the Master of Death first. We thought, we thought that once he had the elder wand he could defeat He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, Lord Voldemort. But it wasn’t enough. Even with the horcruxes gone, it wasn’t _enough_. We lost the battle and we barely made it out. Hogwarts was lost, the Order was decimated, the Ministry had already been taken over. The war, in effect, was over. All we could do was run, hide. We had the Hallows and nothing else.”

Hermione fingered the cloak. “At first we thought perhaps they would allow some form of advanced Necromancy, if you wore the cloak and the ring and cast with the wand. When that didn’t get usable results we tried other things – some darker, some downright silly. The wand is powerful, but fickle. The stone does let you talk to the dead for all the good it does you. And the cloak, well, it’s always been effective just as the legend says. But it wasn’t until we found the transportation ritual that it made sense. You see, the Master of Death’s one true power was _dying_.”

Hermione didn’t seem to realize she was crying again and Albus moved to comfort her but she shifted away. “Let me finish.” She admonished. “If I don’t get this out now I never will.” She closed her eyes and took a steading breath before continuing. “We knew a powerful wizard had to die to power the transportation spell. But while Severus or I might have been enough to get Harry to America or even to jump him back a few years, it wasn’t until we tested him in the equation that we realized it. Harry, as a mere wizard, was incredibly powerful. But Harry as the Master of Death, willing to _give himself to death_ , to go into the after life without reservation or regret, _that_ was powerful enough to send us here. Having all three Hallows doesn’t give anyone anything important in life – it is only by the death of their owner that their true power is revealed.”

“And Voldemort would never understand that power because he could never accept his own death.” Albus finished softly.

“Yes.” Hermione agreed, her voice cracking. “By sacrificing himself, Harry has provided the means to kill the Dark Lord.”

“With love. He’s still defeated by love.” Albus insisted. “Harry’s love for all of you was what allowed him to make that sacrifice. And it will be our love that keeps Tom from ever becoming Voldemort.”

“Magnus says we’ve already won.” Hermione sank down slowly onto the lounge. “That I’m just too blind to see it.”

Albus sat down next to her, carefully taking her hand in his. “I won’t say he won’t have a difficult time. His mother’s wild magic has left him sensitive to the magics around him in a way that frankly frightens me. I don’t believe it will make him Dark, but I suspect he will have difficulty focusing spells and controlling his own power for some time. We’ll have to help him.”

“Like Ariana.” Hermione whispered.

“Yes.” Albus admitted. “I had that thought as well. Only in her case it was a sudden unset of magic coupled with trauma that brought it on. Tom will never know life without his magic. It’s so near the surface with him, that I expect that growing up here he’s likely to learn it just as he does speech or walking. We’ll have to keep him far from muggles until he’s old enough to learn control – if he can. Lestrange and I have been talking, and we think that having _gwawr angau_ near can help. Since both of you can sense magic on such a fundamental level, perhaps you can work with him in ways I can’t. I’ve always been gifted in that area, but my abilities are dwarfed by the two of you. The best I can manage is to extend my magic to create a buffer around him, keep the stimuli down enough he’s not overwhelmed. And I can’t keep it up for long.”

“You want to adopt him – the full wizarding ritual.” Hermione stated, her voice empty.

“Yes.” Albus admitted. “I do want that, for his sake as much as ours. I don’t want him to ask, later, why we didn’t love him enough to make him ours. I don’t want him to question his place in our lives. I found a variant of the adoption ritual that won’t completely override Merope or Riddle. I don’t want to change who he is, after all.”

Hermione closed her eyes. “I wish I could see him as you do. I just _can’t_. I look at him and it’s like I’m reliving every moment of that life. I’m afraid to even touch him, afraid he’ll turn into that _thing_. I close my eyes and all I can see anymore is Hogwarts falling – everyone dying all around me.” Tears slipped out her eyes. “The Great Hall in ruins, the greenhouses burning, children ripped apart limb from limb, I can _taste_ blood in the air and smell curse fire.” She shivered violently, opening her eyes to gaze at him painfully.

“Have you ever killed a man, Albus? Have you ever raised your wand and watched, with certainty, your enemy fall? Have you ever felt their blood splash you as you slashed through them in a mad attempt to stay alive? _Have you!_ she shouted, backing up until she hit the bookcase. She clutched it for support, her chest heaving in great lungfuls of air.

“I’ve taken life.” Albus admitted softly. “I haven’t spent all these years since Gellert left holed up here. I’ve aided the Ministry in certain things, things that will probably never see the light of day. But it’s never been an all out battle. A duel, here or there, a clandestine mission that did not go as smoothly as expected. I’m not nearly as innocent as you apparently think I am.”

“But you aren’t as guilty as I.” Hermione sank slowly to the ground clutching her knees to her chest. “I’ve done such _things_ , Albus. Such horrible _necessary_ things. The worst, the worst is always the mercy killings.” She raised haunted eyes. “The last baby I held, I slit its throat when it started to cry. I couldn’t even use magic, couldn’t risk that they’d detect us.” 

Albus inhaled sharply. “What happened?”

“There was this safehouse, or what we thought was a safehouse.” Hermione looked away, her face turned to the shadows. “Voldemort was going after muggleborn children and we’d rescued this family of five from east London. The eldest son had just shown first sign and triggered an alert. We got there just before the Death Eaters and got them out. We took them back with us and it wasn’t two days later we were attacked. They managed to get an antiapparition shield over us and we knew the only way out was to fight our way past them. There was no way the family would make it.”

She curled into herself tighter and Albus moved to sit on the floor across from her. “You have to understand, the Death Eaters didn’t just _kill_. Killing was too easy. They…they did horrible things, Albus, _horrible things_ to those they captured. I know. I lived it.” Hermione looked up, her hazel eyes empty and pained. “They liked to play with their victims, practicing all sorts of dark arts on you, using you for rituals that…” her voice stopped, a lump in her throat causing her discontinue mid-sentence. “…I can’t…” she cried turning her face away again. “The things they were capable of were inhuman.” She whispered. 

“Draco got me out, with Severus’ help. Ron had died in the ambush where I’d been captured. He was the lucky one.” She shuddered. “My capture had been fairly early on. As they gained more power and got more and more involved in the Darkest of magics it got even worse. If they’d taken any of that family alive… Severus didn’t make it out, nor did Draco. Severus let the Death Eaters torture him to bide us time to get out, distracted them. Draco tried to get to him, tried to save him…but they captured him and neither of them had a chance to end it. _I can still hear Draco’s screams._ Harry and I huddled under _that_ cloak, the blood of that baby cooling on my clothes, and we listened to them torture our loved ones until their hearts gave out. _I prayed for them to die!_ ” 

“Hermione,” Albus moved to touch her and she hissed, backing up further and he dropped his hand. “You don’t have to explain.”

“Yes I do!” She cried. “You deserve to know the type of woman you married. The type of witch you are asking to mother that babe! I may be _gwawr angau_ , I may be Light, but I am not _clean_.”

“You did what you had to, to protect them.” Albus shook his head sadly. “I can’t imagine having to make that choice, Hermione. I wish to Merlin I could do something to take that pain away from you, to share that burden you carry. But I can’t. Even this war with Gellert is nothing compared to what you’ve endured. I understand that now. But what do you expect me to do? We’ve undertaken the job of raising this baby and I intend to see it through. If you can’t do that, I don’t know how to fix it. I don’t know what you want me to do!”

“I DON’T KNOW!” Hermione screamed, throwing herself forward and hitting him with her closed fists. “I don’t know!” 

Albus grabbed her flailing hands and pulled her tight against him as she fought. “I just want it to be over.” Hermione whispered when she finally stilled, sagging into him. “I just want to wake up and not fear what I’ll find when I open my eyes. I just want to look in the mirror and not see a murderer.”

“You are not a murderer.” Albus insisted, his face buried in her hair. “You are the bravest witch I have ever known and I am _honored_ to call you my wife. And that baby will be blessed to call you his mother. This isn’t about Tom, is it? It’s not him you’re afraid of.”

“I can’t _do_ this, Albus. I’m not fit to raise any child let alone this one. I only _take life_.”

“You will have to take this on faith, Hermione. But you are worthy.” Albus pulled back enough he could tilt her to face him, lifting her chin with a shaky hand. “I love you, witch, despite my better judgment and I _trust_ you.”

Hermione’s eyes widened and she choked. “Love? You can’t love me, Albus Dumbledore.”

“Yes I can.” He stated firmly, placing a lingering kiss on her forehead. “I love your spirit, your determination. I love the fact that you make Galatea laugh, and Cara dote, and Filius amused. I love that you can keep up with Nicholas and I when we get going on some pointless academic debate. I love that you _love_ your late husband so much that you want to keep his work alive even when he’s not here to do it. I love that you can best me in a duel, and that you get just as irritated at Armando as I do. I love that you think nothing of even my most absurd robes and that you’ve never once complained when my phoenix has accidently set fire to the curtains.”

“That’s only happened once and it was your fault. You put Fawkes’ perch too close to the window.”

“Be that as it may, you took it all in stride.” Albus smiled fondly. “You can do this, Hermione. Tom doesn’t know a thing about your past. If you love him, he will love you back. That’s the beautiful thing about children. They do not understand hate.”

“I don’t know if I’m capable of love, Albus.” Hermione choked out “I don’t know if I can love either of you the way you deserve.”

“Why don’t you let us be the judges of that?” Albus stood up slowly, pulling her to her feet. He brushed the hair back from her face gently. “I didn’t want to love you, after all, and never the less I have come to it- in remarkably short order, I might add. Give him a chance, give _us_ a chance. We don’t require sweeping declarations or endless sacrifice. All we need is _you_ , here with us – in all your irrepressible glory.”

Albus took her hand and led her slowly into the nursery. Tom was in his crib, his eyes wide from the noises in the other room but when Albus bent to lift him he smiled happily, his little arms wiggling in joy. “There’s my boy.” Albus cooed and carefully lifted him. 

“Tom, you haven’t been properly introduced.” Albus rocked him tenderly. “This lady here is going to be your mother. She’s a little timid, like you were when I got you. So you’ll have to be careful with her.” 

Hermione made a shocked sound and Albus twinkled at her. “Hold out your arms, my dear. It’s about time you held him.”

Hermione trembled as she complied and Albus gently transferred him over. “Albus…” she pleaded as his weight settled in her arms. Tom let out a startled cry and flailed.

“There’s nothing to it.” Albus advised slowly. “He’s not scared of people like he was. Lestrange and I have been working with him. Just open up a little, let him _feel_ you. He’ll calm down.”

Hermione haltingly extended her magic, a tiny tendril of her own energies, and let it hesitantly brush the infant’s magic. Tom stopped mid cry, his face freezing in a look of confusion. His baby blue eyes were already starting to darken and they peered up at her assessingly. His tiny hand reached up and Hermione let him curl his tiny fingers around a stray curl. He made a gurgle sound and suddenly she was surrounded by his magic, a wild torrent of it, and she gasped.

“Don’t fight it or he gets upset.” Albus instructed. “It’s his way of getting to know someone. He’s too young to understand how invasive it is. Just let it happen.”

Hermione held her breath and carefully kept her own magic from countering his. It lasted for over a minute before tiny Tom let out an infantile giggle and spat up on her blouse.

“He likes you!” Albus cried happily and Hermione stared down at the baby dumbstruck.

“I’ve just been thrown up on by an infant whose older self tossed Killing Curses at me.” Hermione said in wonder. “I’m not sure if I should laugh or scream.”

“Wait till you change his nappy.”

Hermione glared.


	25. Who wants to live forever?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because I could not stop for Death,  
> He kindly stopped for me;  
> The carriage held but just ourselves  
> And Immortality.
> 
>  
> 
> -Emily Dickinson

Hermione was never going to win a mother of the year award. That was painfully clear. She did not enjoy feeding babies, or changing babies, or bathing them, or putting them to sleep. In fact, she was fairly certain she just plain did not _like_ babies. 

That said, Tom was starting to grow on her. The longer she was around him, the more his energetic magics beat against her senses and the more clear it became that this tiny round faced infant was _not_ the Dark Lord. He also made Albus very happy and while she wasn’t sure she could ever love either of them the way she wanted to, she thought that maybe, just maybe, she might hold a certain amount of a higher affection for them. Anything that could bring such a look of delight to Albus’ face was a good thing – even if it was a small puke and excrement factory with a very unfortunate name.

As spring neared it became difficult to even associate the gurgling laughing baby with anything remotely sinister and there were entire days where she _forgot_. He charmed nearly everyone that met him and after they got over the shock of his magical ‘handshake’ as Albus had taken to calling it, they would inevitably coo at him and tickle his tiny squirming feet. Albus delighted in dressing him in increasingly garish baby robes – with things like animated trains that ran around the cuffs, or juggling bears, or even small house-elf like creatures that danced ballet. Tom seemed to enjoy it nearly as much as his father.

In her darker moments she enjoyed imaging the expression on Voldmort’s face if he knew…

NEWTs were just a few days away and she’d been spending most of her time planted face first into her books and study notes. Nicholas had given her time off her apprenticeship to devote herself to them and she did so with abandon. Cara and Galatea kept trying to get her to relax, but Magnus and Albus knew better. Albus brought her pot after pot of tea and Magnus simply avoided her. Lanky took care of the chambers and helped with Tom while Prof. Beery and Cara kept the greenhouses without her. She was determined to at least tie Albus’ NEWT score. Armando thought it strange that she was so hell bent on beating her own husband, but Albus had taken it in stride, twinkling like mad. He’d laughed when she told him that in her time Tom Riddle had been the one to best him, so it would be unlikely she’d hold the record for long. 

On some level she knew trouble was coming. Trouble _always_ came at the end of a Hogwarts term. She’d been absent from the school for so long she’d almost forgotten – or perhaps she thought it was just Harry that was jeopardy friendly. Still, it came as a shock when it arrived.

“Have you seen Albus?” Armando asked and Hermione looked up from her book.

“Not since the morning. He took Tom to the nursery with Lanky and went to class I believe.” Hermione replied, looking around the deserted library and realizing that evening had fallen. “Is he not in our quarters?”

“No.” Armando scratched his head in confusion. “I sent him to the Ministry for a packet of paperwork they wanted his signature for – something to do with a proposal he wrote about instituting a magical primary school or other such thing. I expected him back hours ago.”

Hermione frowned and marked her place in her book. “Has he come back through the wards?” She hastily shoved her study materials in her bag and stood up.

“No, and Lanky had to feed Tom his dinner, and you know how Albus is about that. He hasn’t missed giving that child his dinner since we retrieved him.” Armando shook his head. “I even floo called Nicholas in case he stopped over there to say hello. He hasn’t seen him either. When I contacted the Ministry they said he hadn’t arrived.”

A cold feeling settled in her stomach. “Armando, you don’t think something’s happened, do you?”

“I’m not sure.” Armando lead the way back to his office and up the spiral staircase. “Albus is an incredibly powerful wizard, as you well know. I hesitate to imagine what could have waylaid him.”

“Other than a new form of muggle candy?” Hermione groused. “Have you tried his brother?”

“No, I didn’t think of him.” Armando moved to the fire and tossed in a handful of powder. “Hogshead!” he cried and they waited a moment until the irate face of Aberforth Dumbledore appeared. 

The wizard sneered at Hermione but his expression turned alarmed as Armando explained the situation. “No, he’s not here.” Aberforth frowned. “Albus may be many things, but he’s never one to vanish without explanation.”

Hermione’s stomach turned and the cold feeling grew. “Something is dreadfully wrong.” She whispered, her senses going alert with dread. “I can feel it.” She closed her eyes and centered herself, tapping into the magical currents from the lay lines under the castle. They vibrated with an odd patterned energy that made her hair stand on end but there were no peaks or falls that would have given her advanced warning and nothing to point to a location or source. “I’ve got to talk to Magnus.” She interjected, cutting off the two wizards’ conversation.

Armando blinked at her for a moment. “Oh, yes!” He said finally. “Magnus can help find him with the chamber. Good thinking!”

Aberforth grumbled something and Armando turned back to the fire. Hermione took the opportunity to leave. She hurried as fast as she could to Lestrange’s quarters and banged on the door.

“What is it?” He yelled as he wrenched the door open.

“It’s Albus. He’s missing.” Hermione pushed her way inside and ran a hand through her hair in agitation as he closed the door. “I didn’t notice anything off, not till I purposefully checked the magical currents. Something is _very wrong_. It’s subtle, but there’s a pattern to currents that isn’t natural.”

Magnus closed his eyes for a moment. He hissed and frowned, concentrating harder. “You’re right. Why did neither of us notice this?”

“I’ve been spending so much time and energy studying for the NEWTs and whatever I have left I’ve been using to build up shields around Tom.” Hermione collapsed into a chair by the fire. “Plus, I just healed enough to start working with the stones again and I’ve been running equations trying to figure which of the blood adoptions Albus found would work the best. Maybe I’ve just been to tired.”

Magnus opened his eyes. “I’ve been merged with the chamber for at least two or three hours today. I should have noticed there was a situation approaching. One of us should have felt it. There’s nothing specific, and while there’s clearly a problem it’s not behaving in a fashion that would have tipped me off without purposefully looking. It’s very odd. I’ve never felt the currents behave this way before. There’s a repeating rhythm that feels almost superimposed.”

Hermione went still, a shock of dread going straight through her. “No.” She looked up with wide eyes. “No, it can’t be.”

“What?” Magnus asked, alarmed. 

“There,” Hermione stood up, her arms going around herself. “There was a point, with Voldemort, when he learned we had access to the Malfoy stones. He figured out a way to destabilize the lay lines temporarily. At first it was very noticeable, like tossing a bolder into a pond to disrupt the ripples – you see the splash. But over time he refined it until I couldn’t feel the build up to a problem. Whenever he’d accomplished what he set out to do, he’d stop the disruption and I’d feel the effect of his action. But while he was working, it felt very similar to this. Like a thousand small stones being tossed into a pond – too many ripples to tell one from another. He never managed to get it syncopated but it had the same unnatural feeling.”

“That’s impossible!”

“No, no it’s not.” Hermione stated grimly. “It’s very very Dark Magic and it risks disrupting the entire magical network. Towards the end he got cocky and tried to do to much and destabilized the magical lay lines, caused a massive shift in magical energies that destroyed nearly every wizarding community in the United Kingdom. The shock waves reached all the way to China. The muggles thought it was…well they thought it was a massive version of a weapon they haven’t invented here yet, but suffice it to say, it was _bad_. Hundreds of the thousands were killed. It felt like the end of the world. If Grindelwald has discovered a way to do this, he may not know the potential for it to backfire in the same way.”

“But why would he try it now?”

Hermione’s eyes hardened. “Belby. She saw me in the chamber, _recognized_ what I was capable of. When she got word you were here, she must have told Grindelwald that with two of us here we were most of the way to a triad. She had to assume that we could work with Filius – she didn’t know enough about differences in styles of arithmancy to understand how close to impossible that would be. They must be accelerating their timetable to try and compensate for what they _think_ we are doing! She knew enough to know that disrupting the natural flow of the magical currents in the lines would hamper any advanced arithmancy.”

“I can check with the Guild. Someone else must have noticed by now. Perhaps if we can get an exact time for when the disruption started we can narrow the motive.” Lestrange moved towards the fire and the floo pot but Hermione put a restraining hand on his arm.

“Don’t. They mustn’t know that this power exists, Magnus. Belby is a fool and has no idea what she’d doing but if the Guild perfected it, the ramifications would be disastrous. This won’t affect normal, mundane arithmancy, and anyone doing advanced calculations will be slowed down but they should be able to slog through it unless it’s connected to whatever they are trying to hide. The closer to that epicenter you get the harder it will be to pin point a reading. We can use that to our advantage. Instead of working _with_ the flow as we would normally, try going _against_ it. Find the areas with the most resistance in the equations; it worked for me with Voldemort. My guess is they’ve been at this for weeks, possibly a month or more and no one has raised an alarm yet.”

“That could take days! And if they’ve taken Albus as part of their plan, Merlin knows what they are doing to the man.”

“I know.” Hermione set her wand carefully on the table and pulled out her beaded purse and looked down at it, her expression turning grim. “I’m going after Albus, Magnus. He’s too important to events to risk him. I need you to stay here and do what you can to try and figure out what their end game is. See if Filius can use my stones.” She slowly pulled them out and handed them reluctantly over before pulling out the Elder wand and transferring it to her sleeve. “I’ve used them so much they have adapted to my style. It’s closer to his goblin nature so they may work reasonably well for him.”

Lestrange held them reverently. “I will return them to you, Hermione. I swear.”

“If I don’t make it back,” Hermione grasped his hand and held it, the stones clutched between them. “I need you to promise me…”

“You will make it back, that daft husband of yours with you.” Lestrange objected.

“If I don’t make it back,” Hermione insisted. “Give the stones to Nicholas and tell him that when Draco Malfoy is 13 to deliver them to him – he’ll be born the summer of 1980. And Magnus, Tom will become your responsibility. We haven’t done the blood adoption but the paperwork is filed in the Ministry –Albus and I have legal custody and I am naming you the child’s godfather.” The snap of ancient magic burst between them at her words. 

“Hermione,” Magnus shook his head. “Surely there’s a better choice as guardian!”

“You and Filius are the only ones that know the truth, and Filius only knows part of it. I’m trusting you to see he never goes Dark, Magnus.”

“Hermione, I’m old. I many not live long enough to see this through.”

Hermione shut her eyes tightly. “If I don’t return, tell Nicholas that the carriage stopped for me and I gave my seat to you, for it carries only three. He’ll understand.”

Lestrange drew in a sharp breath. “He offered you a chance to use the Philosopher’s Stone didn’t he? And you turned it down?”

“Both of us, Albus and I – yes.” Hermione smiled grimly. “I’ve seen too much death, Magnus, to strive for immortality. I know what it’s like to watch all your loved ones die and I have no desire to repeat it for eternity. The Stone can only be used so many times before its power gives way – it cannot save everyone. When I turned him down, I told him there may come a time when I would send someone to him – and that he must, if he valued Light, accede to their request. Remember – the carriage stopped, but I _gave my seat to you_.” 

She hesitated, staring down at her wand. “I have another favor to ask of you, not for myself or for the Light, but for one I held dear.” She looked up and smiled softly. “There will be a child born to a witch from the Prince line who defies her family and marries a muggle. They will have a child named Severus in 1960 in Cokeworth. See he gets my wand when he’s of age to start Hogwarts. And…if you live long enough, when he finishes his Mastery, give him the notes that you will find in Albus’ laboratory. They belong to him more than they ever could to me. And, if you have it in your heart, help him along the way? His mother made a horrible mistake and they both will pay for it dearly. I’d intended to kill his father.” Hermione stated point blank. “But if I’m not here to do it, just see that he has decent clothes for school, proper books – let him start out on equal footing at least. He’ll be a fellow Slytherin – you could call it House pride if you like.”

“I promise.” He solemnly vowed. “I’ll take care of the child and see that your Severus doesn’t face the same fate. I owe a fellow _gwawr angau_ that much.”

She stepped back and turned for the door but he grabbed her again and held fast, his fingers bruising. “And how do you intend to find Albus?”

Hermione’s back stiffened. “If I answer that question it will make you an accomplice, Magnus. You can’t afford to risk more problems with the Ministry. What we did at the muggle orphanage was a risk we had to take. This one I must carry alone.”

“Let me help you, witch!” He hissed. “I have never met a more stubborn or ill bred example of witch kind…if I didn’t know you were second generation I’d think you a mudblood.”

“I am.” Hermione stated calmly. “My cover story wasn’t the truth – surely you realized that?”

Magnus stared at her for a moment before laughing harshly. “I’ve been training an actual…well, it hardly matters at this point does it? I’d have been obligated to help you regardless and we both know it.”

“Despite your pureblood elitism, I’ve found you to be a surpassingly good person.” Hermione admitted softly. “If it comes to it, you must promise me you won’t pass your beliefs on to Tom. He can ill afford the encouragement.”

“I’m entrenched in my ways and I will never be pleased by the two races mixing.” Lestrange grumbled. “But he’s a halfblood and I wouldn’t wish to make him more miserable after being twice orphaned. I’d do my best to…keep my opinions to myself. He’d still notice it, I’m sure.”

“Just do your best.” Hermione opened the door and stepped through.

“You don’t think you’ll survive.” Magnus whispered softly. “You believe this is a suicide mission.”

Hermione turned and looked at him, a calmness to her eyes that only someone who had faced death and grown to accept it could ever have. “I have always done what I must, to serve Light. The oaths we took, Magnus, have asked much of us both. If I must sacrifice my life to save Albus than I will not hesitate. My mission here is complete. You said it. I succeeded. Tom will never be Voldemort. But Albus – there is _so much_ he has yet to accomplish. His story is only starting.”


	26. To the Victor Goes the Spoils

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. Had to do birthday things with family. Fun, but ate into writing time.

“I’m going with you.” Filius’ gruff voice stopped her as Hermione stood just on the edge of the wards – the Forbidden Forest looming ahead of her.

“Filius!” Hermione turned sharply. “What in Merlin’s name are you doing here!”

“Magnus told me what you are doing – and why.” Filius insisted and as he stepped closer she could see he was dressed in dark battle robes, the moonlight seeming to slide over the slick potion imbued dragonhide. “He knows that he is needed here, in case we don’t return. But he could not allow you to go alone.”

“I’m not likely to return alive and if you go with me, it’s likely you’ll meet the same nasty end.” Hermione warned, stepping into the light herself so he could see the battle scared robes she’d hoped to never wear again. The slick dragonhide trousers and jacket were too modern for the time, but she’d had no excuse or means to replace them with more era appropriate garb and they would serve the purpose she had in mind well. “And I’m going to be doing more than crossing a legal line, Filius. I will be _obliterating_ it. I will hold nothing back. I do not take prisoners and I do not offer second chances to my enemies. I am merciless and efficient and I will not stop if you fall behind. I _cannot_ stop. Albus’ life is more important than mine or yours.”

“I understand.” The half-goblin replied, grim determination marking his expression. “I’ve been that man’s friend for many years and if it’s true, and Grindelwald has him, then I will stand by you both in the battle I know is coming. If you give me the word I will have what there is of the Order here in a moment. They will stand with you.”

“No.” Hermione sighed heavily. “This is not the final battle, Filius. If we don’t make it out, someone will still have to defeat Grindelwald and I fear…” She took a shaking breath. “If fear it will fall to Tom to do so if Albus dies. It will be like Harry repeating all over again.” She whispered softly.

“Let me help you.” Filius begged. “Hermione, I know you have trained for this and that you are a formidable witch. But you are just _one_ witch – alone – against an unknown enemy. Please, let me accompany you.”

Hermione closed her eyes in pain. “I wish I could turn you away, for your sake. But another wand means a better chance of getting Albus out alive.”

“Where do we start?” He asked.

Hermione turned back towards the forest. “Follow me.” She started into the wood and the two walked until they lost sight of the castle. When they came to a clearing Hermione sank to the ground and pulled out her bag and produced a silver bowl and a small vial.

“Blood magic.” Filius whispered. “You mean to scry for him.”

“Yes.” Hermione poured three small drops of blood into the bowl. “I never expected to use it for this.” She sighed regretfully, returning the vial to her bag. She looked up and frowned. “I warned you I wasn’t going to be sticking to legal means. If you have a problem with this, now is the chance to return to the castle.”

“No.” Filius eyed the bowl critically. “I understand the uses of blood rituals and I recognize that not all are Dark. It was convenient to outlaw all blood magics rather than try and make distinctions that are often impossible. Just…be careful. Blood rites are always risky and they _always_ have a price.”

“I’ve done this before.” Hermione stated grimly and pulled the Elder wand. She held it over the bowl and whispered a string of harsh guttural words and the bowl vibrated before filling slowly with a thick black fluid, the blood swirling to mix with it. She continued to chant, the words gaining in power as she worked. The fluid stilled and held as the cadence of the spell increased in speed. She lowered the wand to touch a series of runes on the lip of the bowl and it started to glow. The spell slowed and the words stretched until they felt as if they would continue forever. The surface of the liquid began a slow spiral as if being stirred by an invisible rod. Hermione’s voice got softer and softer as she worked until the spell trialed off and she breathed the last word in a soundless exhale over the surface. 

Images began to appear on the surface. At first they were distorted, a mix of seemingly meaningless shapes and figures. Hermione pocketed the wand and leaned over the bowl. Her eyes slipped closed and she held her hands out above it, palms down, her fingers forming a perfect triangle between them. She stayed suspended over the bowl, her closed eyes peering not at the flickering images but at something only she could see. Filius watched her eyes move rapidly behind her closed lids. 

“ _Létta_ ” She whispered and the images stopped, sinking down into the slowly swirling liquid like heavy smoke. Hermione picked the bowl up slowly, her eyes still closed, and brought it to her mouth. She drank it in large swallows and only when it was finally empty did she lower it and open her eyes. “I have his last location. I can’t get a fix on his current position, but I expect that they’ve placed him inside some kind of magical suppression field.”

Filius had to steady her as she rose to her feet and he frowned at her in concern. “What spell was that? I didn’t recognize any of it.”

“Viking.” Hermione supplied, her face going pale and she clutched the small wizard’s shoulder as the world spun alarmingly. “Give me a moment. The scrying water is a mild poison. It will take a moment for me to…” She fell down hard to her knees and then to her hands. She closed her eyes and panted, her throat working as she desperately tried not to vomit.

“Hermione!” Filius cried. “You drank _poison!_ ”

She shook her head and then moaned at the motion. She fumbled for a moment with her belt before pulling out a small potion vial and downing the contents. Slowly her color returned and she sat back on her heels and took several shuddering breaths. 

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to alarm you.” She smiled apologetically as the small wizard stared at her in shock. “It’s _mildly_ poisonous. I had the antidote, but you have to wait 130 seconds before you can take it. It’s a _long_ 130 seconds.”

She got back up onto her feet and grabbed the bowl. She shrank it and returned it to her purse. “I don’t recommend trying that unless you’ve a qualified potion master on hand, by the way. The antidote is a personal recipe and you won’t find it any book. Without it whoever does the scrying stays ill for _days_. It’s not fatal, but you _wish_ you were dead before it’s over.” She nodded as if coming to a decision. “If you’re still going with me, we need to apparapate. I’ll have to side-along you since I only have the magical signature of the place we are headed not coordinates.”

“Alright.” Filius agreed and moved to take her hand. “Are we going directly into battle or somewhere discrete?”

“Discrete” Hermione answered but pulled her wand anyway. “I suggest remaining vigilant however.”

“Agreed.” 

There was no sound of disapparition. Hermione channeled the magics that resided in the forest to increase the power of the spell so that it was silent. They landed in a small grove of trees outside a weathered estate. The house was old, clearly wizarding, but it had fallen on hard times. The gardens were overgrown and young saplings were growing up in what had been formal beds. The stones of the house were half covered in moss and lichen and the roof slate was chipped and mismatched. The gravel drive showed signs of continual use, though, so Hermione didn’t think it had been abandoned. 

“Where are we?” Filius whispered.

“Just outside Donegal.” Hermione replied. “All I could get is a location. I have no idea what’s in there.”

“That I can help with.” Filius closed his eyes and concentrated, drawing a series of complex wand forms in the air. “There are four wizards in there and two witches.” He replied. At Hermione’s questioning look he chuckled softly. “Old goblin trick. I’d tell you how to do it, but then I’d have to Obliviate you – and you wouldn’t be able to do it anyway unless you’ve been hiding goblin blood in there somewhere- and you aren’t that short.”

“Thanks, I think.” Hermione eyed the building critically. “I can sense several wards, but nothing I would classify as High Magic. Either they haven’t the skill or they don’t want to risk drawing attention to the place. The most complicated one I see is an anti-apparition barrier.”

“Or they’ve got something subtler.” Filius frowned and sniffed the air. “There’s a hint of something here, growing stronger towards the house. My guess is they’ve permeated the ground around the structure with some kind of spellwork. It’s likely pressure sensitive.”

“Do you detect anything against animagi?” Hermione narrowed her eyes and made her own series of wand movements and muttered a few quiet spells. “I don’t see anything.”

“No…it looks clear. Most wizards don’t expect animagi.” He eyed her carefully. “I take it you are one.”

Hermione nodded. “I’m going to go in for a closer look.” She replied. “I promise I’ll come back after I see what I can find.”

Filius nodded and Hermione transformed. She flew up into the air and made her way towards the house on silent wings. Her black form blended into the night sky perfectly and she thanked Merlin once again that her form had taken on something as practical as a crow. While she’d always hated the lack of control that relying on a broom gave her, she loved having her own wings. 

She circled the house twice before settling on a ledge to peer through a set of semi-sheer curtains. The room was empty but there were the remains of a dinner on the table and the stench of death floated out through the cracked glass. She cocked her head to get a better look and her feathers ruffled as she caught sight of the three dead that lay rotting on the carpet. Apparently the house had been occupied when Belby had appropriated it. They had left the family that owned it to decompose along with what remained of the dinner. By the look of it, they’d been there for several weeks.

Hermione took to the air again and flew off and away for a moment before circling back and going to the next window with shutters that weren’t bared. She ducked to the side as she caught movement.

“How much longer do we have to hold him? He makes me nervous.” An angry male voice bit out sharply. 

“Until Lord Grindelwald arrives.” A voice Hermione recognized as Belby responded. She sounded weary. “Besides, Dumbledore is secure. Even a wizard of his power isn’t going to get out of _that_ room. It soaks up magical energy like a sponge and siphons it back into the wards. Maeve may have been a mudblood, but she knew how to ward a dungeon. We’re just lucky that when they built this house they kept the original underground intact.”

“Shame we had to kill the kid. He was wicked on a broom. He would have been a fine quidditch player when he got to Hogwarts.”

“Is that all you can think about?” Belby complained. “Honestly, we’re plotting world domination, and you’ve got quidditch on the brain.”

“Well pardon me for having a hobby.” The other man replied gruffly. “It’s not like we’re doing anything other than hiding and casting that stupid spell of yours every three hours. It’s blasted boring.”

“That ‘stupid spell’ is the _only_ thing preventing that Romanian nightmare and that Lestrange character from bringing the entire British Ministry down on our heads. Have a little respect. It’s shear brilliance!”

“It’s exhausting! And we’re running out of children. Pretty soon we’ll have to start apparating to London or the people around here will get suspicious.” The mystery man sighed. “I mean, I’m all for torturing muggles, but even Arcturus is having trouble with some of the younger ones.”

“The younger they are, the more their deaths disrupt the potentiality.” Belby explained in a tired voice. “I keep telling you that, but you keep bringing back the older ones. Infants will give the spell greater longevity. We only have to keep recasting every few hours because you’re bringing me near adults!”

“People expect kids that age to run away. They don’t get nearly as jumpy, especially if we take ‘em in pairs. The young ones? We’ll have the whole of the island after us if we start snatching babes from cradles.”

Hermione couldn’t listen anymore and backed off the ledge. She circled once more but could find nothing to tell her where the other witch and the missing wizards were. If there were underground dungeons it was likely they were there. She flew back to Filius and transformed.

“What could you see?” He asked anxiously.

“Belby’s up there with a wizard, I didn’t get his name. He mentioned another of their accomplices, someone named Arcturus?”

“That would most likely be Arcturus Black. Rather an odd duck that one, even for the House of Black. The Order has suspected that he’s working with Grindelwald, but we hadn’t any proof.” Filius eyed the house speculatively. “Did you hear any other names?”

“No. But I think they’ve got Albus in some kind of dungeon or subterranean building. Apparently this house was built over an older structure. She mentioned Maeve having constructed the room they are holding him in. The way she said it, I’m assuming she meant Queen Maeve.”

“Maeve…” Filius frowned. “There’s a legend that she had a magical void room that she used with difficult students to temporarily suppress their magic. This was before we had developed the kind of wand technology we have today and wild magics were still a very real problem. If we are standing on her old training grounds and the room is still intact it would make an excellent prison cell. Albus has never been without his magic. I doubt he’d have any idea at all how to manage an escape without it.”

“We’ve got to get down there.” Hermione pulled her wand and ran a series of exploratory spells down into the earth. “I’m not very good at this.” She grumbled.

“Let me.” Filius replied, repeating the spell work with more complex wand movements. “There are times where being half-goblin is an advantage. Detection spells are something of a specialty.” He worked quickly and intricately and soon a small map of the subterranean complex appeared in faintly glowing lines between them. “There’s quite a lot of building down there. And here,” he pointed to one dark spot near the center. “I’m not getting any magical imitations from that room. My guess is he’s being held there but there’s no way for me to pick anything up from inside since it’s blocking all magic. I picked up several wizards in the room farthest away from the void – it probably makes them uneasy to be near to it. I sensed movement in the nearest room but without magical signature. Which means there’s most likely several muggles being held as well unless they’ve got several large animals caged for some reason. I missed them earlier since I was only scanning for magical signatures.”

“Whatever spell is causing the disruption to the lay lines is being fueled by human sacrifice.” Hermione stated grimly. “The younger the sacrifice, the stronger the disruption. She’s been abducting children from the towns surrounding here.”

“Merlin.” Filius shook his head sadly. “We have to get them out as well.”

“We’ll do what we can, but Albus is the first priority.” Hermione drew a steading breath. “Filius, remember that I warned you I would do whatever I had to do to get Albus out. IF that means the muggles die, then they die. I won’t endanger the mission for them.”

The small wizard paled but nodded. “I understand.” His voice was soft. “I think I can see a way in.” He changed the subject and pointed to small off shoot of the map. “Here. There’s a tunnel that opens up on the far side of the property. It’s partially collapsed. I doubt they have it guarded. I know a few mining spells that should allow us to clear the blockage. I can’t promise the tunnel ceiling will hold for long though. If we get in that way, I doubt we can go back out again.”

“If we can get to Albus we can fight our way out. Right now it’s just 6 of them and I doubt Belby’s any good in a duel. But we need to move quickly. Grindelwald is on the way and I doubt any of us want to face him.” Hermione paused for a moment. “Filius, I want you to know that no matter how this turns out, it was a honor to work with you these last few months and without you, I would be going in there blind. Thank you.”

Filius shook his head. “You do not have to thank me, Hermione. Albus is very dear to me and I swore long ago that I would do whatever I could to ease his burden. You have been a most excellent student, and a good friend. And when this day is over, we shall be content and warm in our beds at Hogwarts and I will be able to look back on this as a grand adventure.” He smiled. “Now, shall we get going? We’ve a wizard to rescue.”

Hermione held him back with a firm grip on his arm. “Filius, I need you to promise me something. If I order you to go, you need to follow my command.” Hermione’s eyes glittered dangerously in the moonlight. “I have access to power reserves normal wizards don’t, and I can fight nearly indefinitely without magical exhaustion. You don’t have that option. If we get caught, it will be up to you to get Albus out. Do you understand?”

“You keep talking as if you know you won’t make it out.” Filius questioned. “What is it that you know that I don’t?”

“It’s just a feeling.” Hermione eyed the house with clear distain. “I’m not saying I won’t make it back, but I sense trouble coming. With their spell disrupting the lay currents I can’t pin point what it is, but there’s a critical turning point in time approaching rapidly and it will converge here – tonight. Albus _must_ be taken safety back to Hogwarts. Of the three of us, I am the only one that does not belong in this time and this place – I am expendable. If you have a chance to grab him and apparate out, take it. I already told you I’d leave you behind if I had too. I expect the same from you. Understood?”

“Understood.” Filius agreed, his face showing his displeasure with the situation but accepting the necessity. 

They moved quickly and silently to the tunnel entrance that Filius had located and Hermione checked it for wards and found it unguarded. Either the occupants of the house did not know of it, or they assumed it was impassable. The entrance was hidden behind brambles and overgrown vegetation, and had Filius’ goblin spell work not located it, Hermione would never have found it. The first part of the tunnel was clear and the going was relatively easily until they made the half way point. Here the tunnel walls were crumbling and large chunks of earth had fallen into their path. The passage narrowed until Hermione was forced to crawl on hand and knee. When they reached the blockage even Filius was stooped low. 

The charms professor sat down on the ground and took a moment to collect himself. Hermione could feel his power pooling in his hands. He worked without wand, channeling magic in goblin fashion for several long minutes until he made a harsh motion and a guttural snarl in his people’s language. His hands shot forwards as if shoving the rock away and the pile of debris exploded out of the way. Hermione barely withheld a shriek as she was sprayed with clods of dirt. The entire process was eerily silent and Hermione watched in fascination as the dirt seemed to absorb into the tunnel walls.

“Hurry. We haven’t much time. The soil here is very unstable.” Filius warned, grabbing her hand and hurrying her forward. His spell work had cleared the tunnel back to it’s original height and Hermione stood and ran, Filius moving ahead of her at a dead run. She could feel a slight vibration in the earth and Filius cursed. He shoved her ahead and turned, raising his hands and sending a ball of magical energy up into the ceiling. “Run!” he yelled and Hermione did as told. She could hear the tunnel collapsing behind her and she choked as the air filled with dust.

When she reached the end of the tunnel she turned around. “Filius?” she called softly, extending her senses trying to see if she could feel the small man. 

A soft cough answered her and a very dusty and rumpled Filius immerged from the cloud of debris. “Well, that was not my finest work.” Filius grumbled, waving his wand to clean the worst of the dirt off his robes. “Father would be most upset with me. Tunnel stabilization is something of a basic art for goblins. I’m afraid I haven’t practiced it since I was a boy.”

“Well, I think you did marvelously.” Hermione hugged him and Filius blushed softly. “They probably heard that racket.” She turned to the tunnel exit and frowned.

“Several of the cave-in’s looked recent.” Filius’ eyes narrowed. “They probably heard previous ones.”

“Still, stay alert.” Hermione advised. She motioned for silence and crept the last of the way on high alert. 

The tunnel exit was behind a large moth eaten tapestry in a dank unlit corridor. Hermione scanned the hallway but could feel no magical emanations and Filius nodded his confirmation. He pointed to the left and Hermione nodded in thanks, trusting to his better since of direction underground. 

They made their way cautiously forward until the flicker of a torch came into sight from around a blind corner. They crouched low against the wall and Hermione scanned the corridor for a hiding place. When none presented itself, she raised her wand and motioned Filius behind her. 

She could sense only one wizard approaching and she looked to Filius for confirmation. He held up a single finger and she nodded. When the flickering light was nearly at the corner, Hermione tucked and rolled, shooting a silent _Petrificus Totalus_. She held her wand steady, waiting to see if her opponent would move and when several heartbeats had passed without a sign of life, she crept forward and confirmed that the spell had indeed taken hold. Filius came up behind her silently.

Hermione motioned for him to remain quiet and raised her fingers to her eyes and then up the corridor before pointing at him. He nodded and moved ahead a ways to keep look out. Hermione turned back to her felled opponent and stared down at the witch.

She was young, and fairly pretty. Her eyes were opened wide in shock and Hermione used that to her advantage. “ _Legilimens_ ” she whispered, slipping into the witch’s mind. 

It was a brutal assault. Hermione had learned the skill from Severus and while it turned her stomach, she wasn’t above using it when necessary. She sped through the young girl’s mind, ripping the information she needed from her and ignoring the painful mental screams she left in her wake. She now knew the layout of the underground caverns and exactly where Albus and the muggles were located. Unfortunately, the girl knew next to nothing of Belby’s plans or Grindelwald. She’d only joined with them to get closer to her lover and was given the most menial of tasks – such as checking on the latest tunnel collapse. Hermione glanced up at Filius when she was done and he looked back at her quickly. Hermione motioned for him to turn around and when he did, she cast a quick whispered “ _Avada Kedavra_ ”. Filius did not need to see her kill his former student. A flash of green and she was gone. Hermione flicked her wand again and transfigured the corpse and her torch into dust, which she quickly dispersed along the corridor. If anyone came looking, they wouldn’t even find a body.

They moved forward. Hermione kept a weather eye out for more wizards, painfully aware that four more lurked somewhere near. The corridors were getting brighter and better kept as they moved and soon they came upon voices. There was an open doorway a hundred feet in front of them, light pouring out into the corridor. There was no way to get past it without the occupants having them in full view. 

Hermione reached for a special compartment on her belt and pulled out a vial. Filius’ eyes widened as he saw the splashing red liquid. Hermione nodded and he backed away to stand further down the corridor. Hermione crept forward silently and slid down to crouch next to the open door. There were four voices from inside and Hermione sent a silent thank you to whatever powers had placed the remaining wizards all in the same room. They sounded half drunk and she listened to them argue over their card game for several seconds. Holding the vial in one hand, and her wand in the other she gathered her energy.

In one smooth movement she rolled the vial into the room and sprang in front of the doorway. The occupants of the room looked up in shock and Hermione wasted no time pointing her wand at the vial and activating it with a well placed blast of magical energy, her momentum carrying her across the patch of light into safety on the other side. 

The vial shattered and the contents of the potion sprayed out in a wide circle soaking everything inside the room. Hermione flicked her wand as quickly as she could, casting as strong of containment and silencing spells as she could manage. The screams from the four wizards cut off instantly and she peered around the doorway and watched as the room filed with a deadly red haze.

Filius cautiously approached and added his own set of containment spells to the doorway and watched in sick fascination as the smoke flashed ominous shades of burgundy before slowly sinking down to shift and wreath on the floor like a living thing. What little was visible of the wizards above the deadly fog was twisted, stripped of flesh and muscle. 

Hermione pulled a second vial out of her pouch and hurled it through the containment field into the room. The vial broke as it landed on the stone floor and a blue mist rose out of it to cancel the deadly red. When the last of the fog had cleared they lowered the containment charms and the silencing spell. Hermione moved into the room and repeated her transfiguration and scattering of the corpses. She summoned the remains of the two vials and safely stowed them away in the belt pouch. She was never one to leave evidence. 

The only trouble now would if Belby or the wizard from upstairs decided to venture down. If they did, it should take them some time to discover that the others were missing.

They came upon the muggles first. There were a half dozen, most no older than their early teens, and Hermione cringed. They were all locked into a warded cell together and were clearly beyond frightened. Filius moved forward, his wand raised to take down the wards and free them but Hermione put a restraining hand on his arm. 

“The wards – if we take them down, the other two will sense it.” She whispered. “We must get Albus first. If there’s time, we come back for them.”

Filius looked torn and Hermione had to pull him after her to get him to move away from the children. She didn’t mention the fact that they were too young and too scared to follow directions silently. If and when they retrieved them, they would need to either be Imperiused or heavily confounded to get them to obey.

The void room was at the heart of the underground complex and when they finally reached it, Hermione’s heart sank. There were incredibly complex wards guarding it and they were all set to alert Belby at the tiniest disturbance. As soon as they started to take them down, the others would come running.

Filius’ eyes hardened in understanding and they raised their wands simultaneously to attack the wards. 

It took them several spells to break through and by the time the wards fell she could hear Belby screaming for her dead comrades through the corridor and the sound of running feet. Filius wrenched the door open and Hermione ducked inside. She staggered as her connection to the magical currents cut off and she had to bite her tongue to stop herself from passing out at the sudden cutting off of her powers. Albus was slumped on the far side of the room, unconscious, and she stumbled to his side. She had to physically drag him across the room, unable to lift his weight and without magical aid inside the suppression field. 

Filius met her at the door and reached one shaky hand inside to help her haul him out. Hermione fell forward into the corridor and sucked in lungful’s of air as if she’d been suffocating, her magical senses snapping back into life instantly. Her head pounded with the sensation and she wasted several precious seconds trying to calm her rolling stomach. Filius spent the time trying to resuscitate Albus.

Hermione finally pushed herself to her feet just as Albus groaned, his eyes blinking open. She reached into her belt and pulled out a spare wand and tossed it to him. “Come on.” She hissed, clutching her head with one hand and the wall with the other. “We need to move. They’ll be here any second.” 

Albus dazedly got to his feet, his face deadly pale and his hands shaking. The shouting and running footsteps were getting closer and Filius motioned for them to hurry. He took off down the corridor leading back to the muggles and Hermione had to help Albus as they hurriedly followed, his heavy weight leaning on her and slowing them down. 

Filius had the wards down by the time they caught up with him and Hermione cursed under her breath. The frightened children were screaming and two had already started to make a break for it down the hall. She raised her wand and sent a quick set of _Imperios_ after them and they halted. She did the same to the remaining three. Her magic was slower to respond than normal and she had to tap into the magical energies around her to make the spell work. Even the short time she’d spent inside the suppression field making everything seem like working through pudding. 

“What in Merlin’s name are you _doing?_ ” Albus’ weak voice protested.

“If you want them to make it out alive, they need to do exactly as I tell them and I don’t have time to ask nicely.” Hermione replied bitterly. “Now come on.” The eldest boy was fairly large for his age and she ordered him back to Albus’ side to assist the wizard out of the building. The others she lined up behind them as they started moving up towards the entrance to the house. There was no way they could make it back out of the tunnel after the last collapse. 

“You’re using them as a human shield!” Albus protested. “Hermione,” he started and she growled, cutting him off.

“Now is not the time Albus Dumbledore. Grindelwald is due to arrive any second and Belby and her accomplice are down here somewhere itching to kill us.” Hermione flicked her wand and sent the ceiling behind them crashing to the ground blocking the passage.

“Filius, how much further?” she asked.

“Not far, just around the next bend. Take a right.” The small wizard advised. They could hear Belby gaining on them as she frantically searched for her missing minions. The ceiling collapse bought them a little time as Belby cursed and had to circle back for another route.

They made it to the stairway out just as Belby rounded the corner. The woman had her wand drawn and she snarled as she caught sight of them. She sent a hasty killing curse aimed at Dumbledore. His eyes widened as he saw it coming but in his depleted state he wasn’t fast enough to move out of the way. At the last second the arm of the muggle boy supporting him jerked out and caught the curse. He fell in a dead heap, knocking Albus to the ground with him. Albus stared in shock into the dead boys eyes and made a strange strangled sound.

Hermione couldn’t spare him much thought. She sent an answering flash of green towards the arithmancy professor and growled in frustration as the witch dodged to the right, the spell flashing past her. The wizard she’d heard in the upstairs room joined the fight and Filius jumped into the duel with vigor. 

The muggle children surrounded Albus and Hermione sent them orders to get the wizard up the staircase. Albus stared at them confused as the glassy eyed children helped him to his feet and started ushering him up the stairway. Albus raised a shaky wand and sent a few spells towards Belby and the other wizard, but he lacked aim and his unfamiliarity with the wand hampered him greatly. He tried to fight the children off, to remain behind, but there were enough of him that they managed to haul him bodily up the stairs.

Filius and Hermione managed to back slowly up the staircase laying down cover fire as Belby and her wizard attempted to follow. Filius brought he ceiling down once they were on the stairway and they could hear the two curse from the other side of the rubble.

“It won’t stop them for long.” Filius advised. “We need to move.”

Hermione nodded and they quickly followed Albus and the children up into the house. There were anti-apparition wards on the manor itself. They needed to make it past the border of the wards to disapparate. Hermione blasted a hole in the wall and quickly ushered everyone out onto the grounds. They had barely made it 10 feet when a slow clapping caused her turn.

Gellert Grindelwald stood between them and freedom. His long blond hair reflected the moonlight in an eerie halo around his head and his dark green cloak blended into the darkness making him seem to float. “Well done, Mrs. Dumbledore. Well done. I see Belby’s appraisal of your skills was not unfounded.”

Hermione tensed as she felt a blast of magical energy behind her signaling that Belby and the other wizard had managed to clear the blockage and were likely seconds away from making it up the stairway.

“Gellert.” Albus pushed the child that was helping him away and stood shakily, raising his wand to point it at his once friend. Hermione could see his arm trebling with the effort from where she stood. “How nice to see you again.”

“I had hoped we’d meet under more congenial circumstances.” Gellert replied, his eyes softening slightly as he looked at his old friend. “I was hurt, Albus, when I didn’t receive an invitation to your wedding.”

“We had limited seating.” Albus offered. “If I’d known you would be in England this weekend I’d have offered to meet you for dinner. No need for all this.”

Gellert smiled wickedly. “Oh we both know that if your Order had known I’d be here, you’d have been serving that dinner in Azkaban – or at least attempting it. I thought I’d spare you the trouble and arrange a smaller more intimate meal. It really is a shame your wife and this half-breed had to crash the party.”

Hermione moved between them and raised the Elder wand. “Filius.” She said in a hard tone. They had perhaps seconds before Belby and the other wizard arrived.

Gellert started to laugh. “Dalca was it? I searched my records and could find no mention of you or your supposed freedom fighters. What lies have you used to ensnare him? What is your plan, little witch?”

“At the moment?” Hermione smiled grimly. “It’s fairly simple.” She hurled the strongest killing curse she could muster at Grindelwald’s head. At the exact moment the spell left her wand, Filius and the muggle children rushed Albus and grabbed him. Grindelwald dodged to the right of the curse and rolled, answering her with a massive slashing hex that she deflected. Filius and the others ran for the edge of the wards. Hermione summoned power from the magical currents nearby and flung a blasting hex at the dark wizard.

Grindelwald deflected the hex and his eyes flickered to the retreating charms professor and company. Hermione wasted no time following up with a rapid burst of spell fire, hurling curse after curse at her opponent, crouching and rolling to maneuver him between her and the house yet away from Albus and the others. Grindelwald had no choice but to concentrate on her attack rather than stop the fleeing group. Hermione fought to regain her normal control of her magic, but the effects of the suppression field were still weighing her down and she was rapidly depleting her reserves. _So much for near infinite power sources._ she thought to herself as she fired another spell that came no where near her normal level. If she was having this much trouble, Albus had to be nearly useless.

There were pops of apparition from outside the wards and Hermione cursed as Grindelwald’s supporters rallied to his aide. Not knowing what was happening they converged on her and she breathed a sigh of relief as she saw Filius and the others make it past the edge. She summoned more energy and cast the strongest shield charm she could in her current state, her mind and body flowing from one spell to another with more difficulty than she’d felt since becoming _gwawr angau_. Belby and the other wizard joined the group and Hermione did her best to keep the now dozen or so witches and wizards focused on her long enough for Filius and Albus to escape.

She could see them out of the corner of her eye. Albus was trying to argue with Filius but the small wizard shook his head grimly. He reached out with a steady hand to tug the weakened Albus closer and with a pop they were gone.

Hermione sent a silent command to the remaining muggles to run as far and as fast as they could. Her shield charm was failing under the constant barrage of spells from her multiple attackers and she let it drop rather than waste the energy. She took down two of her opponents before a burning hex hit her square in the back, the strength of it knocking her off her feet and the Elder wand flew from her hand.

She rolled, trying to reach it, when a heavy boot came down on her hand. She looked up, the pain in her back making her eyes water, to find Gellert Grindelwald staring down at her. He sent a blindingly powerful binding charm at her and she moaned as the ropes dug into her burns. 

He reached down and picked up the Elder wand. His eyes widened as he realized what he held.

“The Elder Wand.” He breathed. “Gregorovitch should have had it. I went to retrieve it, but he claimed it had disappeared without a trace.” Grindelwald’s eyes narrowed. “However did a nameless witch like you acquire the death stick?”

“I killed the last Master of Death for it.” Hermione smirked, her arms squirming against her bonds despite her injuries. “It’s a fickle thing, that wand. I should warn you.”

Grindelwald laughed, the sound lighter and higher in pitch than Hermione usually associated with evil wizards. “If you killed the last Master of Death, that would mean you have in your possession all three of the hallows – and have gained that title yourself. And are about to loose it.”

“Do you think I’m stupid enough to walk around with all of them _on my person_?” Hermione rolled her eyes. “Frankly, if I hadn’t anticipated having to duel you, I wouldn’t have even brought that bloody wand.”

“I am eternally grateful that you did.” Grindelwald sneered at her, pointing the wand at her. “However, I’m not nearly grateful enough to keep you alive. I can’t risk transporting you back to Nurmengard and there is nowhere in Britain I can confine you. It is for the greater good, you know. I can’t risk you interfering with my plans. And while Belby’s little spell worked well enough, I’m not so ignorant as to realize the possible ramifications of destabilizing the magical currents too much.”

“Glad to hear that at least.” Hermione maintained eye contact, her Occlumency  
shields firmly in place. “I’ve seen what messing about with them can do, Grindelwald. If you want to have a wizarding world left to rule, I suggest not repeating it.”

Belby made a shocked sound of protest and Grindelwald held his hand up to silence her. “Mrs. Dumbledore is correct, my dear. Your spell is rather ingenious, but I fear that if you keep it up for long it will cause more damage than I find acceptable. We do want to accomplish our goals with a minimal amount of collateral damage to wizarding folk, you do understand. Muggles are expendable. We are not.”

“Naturally.” Hermione agreed, her tone sarcastic. “Now, if you’re done gloating, I’d appreciate a swift Avada over anything long and drawn out. I believe you owe me that common courtesy after our most excellent duel.”

Grindelwald made a small mock bow. “Who am I disagree with a lady?” He raised the wand.

There was a sharp pop to the side and Hermione’s eyes widened as she caught sight of Filius just outside the anti-apparition ward. He had something in his hand and with a harsh slash of his wand he sent it hurdling towards her just as the Elder wand burst forth a flash of brilliant green.


	27. Recovery

Albus Dumbledore was rarely frightened. In fact, the last time he could distinctly remember fear being his prominent emotion had been the moments just before and after Ariana’s tiny body had fallen limp and broken to the ground. First had come the shock of cold terror, then the instant of denial, followed by blind panic, and then crushing guilt and grief that had stolen his breath and his sanity. Since those horrifying events, Albus had of course felt fear, but never in an intensity that was enough to drown out other emotions – such as curiosity, anger, or even pity. No, since Ariana’s death, he’d had little to _be_ frightened about. His worst nightmare had come to life and after that, what was left?

The last thing Albus remembered was turning the corner from the apparition point, his mind already calculating which provisions of his new proposed primary wizarding education bill he would be willing to use as leverage in the negotiations he knew would be coming. He recalled glancing up, and then a single bright bolt of fear. The next thing he knew he was waking up and everything felt _wrong_. At first he thought himself still asleep, but as he peered around the dank cold stone room, he quickly ascertained that his eyes were in fact open, his arms were working, and all other facets of his body and mind appeared to operating except the one that had always, without fail, been his constant and true companion. He could not feel his magic. And he was _terrified_.

One long lost afternoon, when the world was still innocent and Albus hadn’t yet experienced the events that would forever change him, he and Gellert had sat under the sheltering arms of the old oak that grew behind his childhood home and compared what magic felt like to them. The way a wizard interpreted their magic was an intensely personal thing and something that most never dared to try and articulate. But the two boys, in their youth, had thought themselves so close of comrades that they’d laid there, the sun baking down on them, and tried to explain to one another something so intrinsic it was like discussing how to keep one’s heart beating.

To Albus, magic had always felt like a pulse within him, a constant steady drum beat of _life_ that thrummed through his veins and quickened him. For Gellert, magic was like a misty fog that swirled in the air and cursed through him with every breath. 

As Albus laid on the hard stone it felt as if his heart had stopped. There was no thrum of corded power, no sense of the external world at all. In fact, if Albus closed his eyes it was as if the entire universe had blinked out of existence. Without his magic, he couldn’t seem to make his brain work. The world was colorless, devoid of any recognizable features. His mind ground to a halt, filled with an all consuming horror that he hadn’t felt since he’d held his sister’s broken body. In some ways, this was in fact _worse_. Ariana’s death had been his fault and while certain facts were missing he knew what had caused it. This…this he did not know the cause of, nor if it would go on for an hour or eternity. He had no idea if the entire wizarding world had winked out of existence, leaving him spared somehow in this stone prison cell, or if he was captured and this was some new form of torture. While normally his curiosity would have over ridden the fear, his logic forcing the situation to heel, the loss of his magic cut too deeply to allow for any such advanced thought. Albus was, simply put, _afraid_ and very near to panic.

He had no idea how long he laid there – the dread and anxiety mingling within him until he was sure he’d lost his mind. When the door swung open and Hermione rushed to him, he was sure he had. He could not even muster the strength of will to let her know he was _aware_. The instant she dragged him out of the room it was as if he could finally breath again. For a moment all he could process was that Gellert’s explanation of magic as air was, perhaps, not as odd as it had sounded on that long ago day.

Filius fluttered in and out of his vision; healing spells and reenergizing charms flowed over him and Albus drank them in. He could feel magic seeping back into him, his lost drums stuttering and faltering as they tried to pick up a cadence that he’d never before noticed. He’d never known silence before, not like in that room, and his heart rejoiced at the return of sound.

His first coherent words were to utter a shocked protest as he saw his wife cast the Imperius curse at several muggle children. From there, the escape was an utterly nonsensical mash of disjointed images. They dashed through halls and corridors, up stairs, Albus being passed from one cursed muggle child to another. He tried to help, to defend them against what he vaguely recognized as Belby and another wizard, but he was next to useless in his weakened condition. It was a struggle for him to remain on his feet.

They made it outside just as Albus’ brain finally processed the fact that he’d apparently been kidnapped, and that Filius and Hermione were evidently the rescue party, when he heard a voice he’d never thought to encounter again.

He summoned every ounce of strength he could and stood unaided, his wand held high as he tried to stare down his old childhood friend. Gellert Grindelwald looked far younger than Albus would have thought, given the time that had passed. His blond hair was as magnificent as ever, his cloak the same shade of midnight green that Albus remembered so well. They bantered and suddenly….

Filius was pulling him away and Albus, despite his larger size, did not have the strength to fight him. He cried out as he felt the pull of apparition and for one terrible moment it was Ariana all over again, his last image that of Hermione going down in a hail of spellfire. They landed as close to Hogwarts as the school wards would allow and Filius shoved him through the gates with a harshly tossed spell. 

“I’m going back for her.” The small wizard declared and Albus tried to regain his feet to follow, but the firm grasp of Magnus Lestrange came out of no where to stop him. “Magnus, get him to the infirmary. He’s suffering from the after effects of extreme magical suppression.” Filius ordered then turned and picked up a small acorn and hefted it in his hand. The half-goblin appraised it carefully before pulling his wand and preforming some sort of complex spell. 

Albus again tried to make for the gates but Lestrange would have none of it. He barely felt the stunning spell before it hit him.

When he awoke again he was in the infirmary and the nurse was tottering around him in a blur of blue and white. He sat up, the fear and panic returning in a rush, and looked around frantically. “Hermione?” he whispered and the bed dipped. He turned and his blue eyes widened in fear at the expression on Lestrange’s face.

“She’s alive.” Magnus wasted no time in reassuring but held up a hand. “She’s at St. Mungos. We hadn’t the skill to treat the burns here.” He cast a discrete silencing spell before continuing. “She held off Grindelwald long enough for Filius to get you out, but she lost the Elder wand to him. If Filius hadn’t levitated that impromptu port key into contact with her, she’d be dead. The killing curse missed her by a hair’s breath. Filius apparated back here as soon as Hermione was away and was only dealt a glancing blow; he’s resting in his quarters now. We alerted the Ministry, and the Order, but by the time they got to the manor Belby was holding you at, they had all cleared out.”

“What…” Albus coughed and Magnus helped him to take a long slow sip of water. “What happened? I was in London…”

“From the witness accounts we’ve been able to piece together, you were dosed with a sedative potion and portkeyed out. We think it was something air born – nothing we’ve seen before but there was a faint residue on the walls next to where we think you were taken. I doubt you had any warning at all. They kept you in a room Queen Maeve used to control students whose wild magics had gone mad – it literarily cut off all access to magic, both external and internal. It depleted your own reserves to practically nothing. Frankly I’m surprised you regained consciousness as quickly as you did considering how long they had you before Hermione and Filius mounted a rescue. Filius said you managed a few spells during the duel, which I think should be considered a minor miracle.”

“Can I see her?”

Magnus sighed. “You are still too weak to apparate, Albus, and they have her heavily sedated. If all goes well, we can go tomorrow. She was hit with multiple dark spells and if she hadn’t been able to tap into external magical currents she’d have died. Her abilities are speeding her healing, thank Merlin, but Mungos estimates that it will take a week or more before they can dare release her. It was touch and go for several hours.”

Albus tried to sit up but found himself too weak to manage. Magnus took pity and helped him upright with a quick spell and the addition of several pillows. “Who has Tom?”

“He’s with the headmaster.” Magnus replied. “Lanky is keeping an eye on him as well. We both know Dippet isn’t exactly the world’s most reliable individual when it comes to things like diapers and food. Between them the boy is adequately seen to.” Magnus frowned slightly. “Tom does seem to know that something is not right, however.”

“He’s never been away from either of us for so long.” Albus rubbed tiredly at face. “Please, Magnus, can you help me into my quarters? I’m sure I’ll rest more comfortably there and Lanky can bring Tom home that way. We can see Hermione tomorrow if you think they will keep her under.”

“I can’t guarantee she’ll be awake even then.” Magnus motioned for the nurse. “Let me see what kind of care you’ll require. If she agrees, we’ll relocate you.”

The nurse was not pleased at the idea, but Albus would not be dissuaded. He was too unsteady to walk unaided, but Lanky was kind enough to pop him directly from the hospital wing into his bed and he was never so grateful for the wonders of house-elf magic. Once he was settled, Armando came with Tom and the five month old tried to launch himself from the headmaster’s arms to his father. The headmaster held him firmly to keep him from falling. Tom’s eyes blazed and his magic picked up; there was a crack and he landed with a plop on the bed.

“Did he…?” Armando blinked in surprise. “Did he just _apparate_? Inside Hogwarts?” Tom crawled over to his father and nestled into him with a contented gurgle. His little eyes blinked tiredly, exhausted from his magical outburst.

Lanky giggled. “The Headmaster is funny. Master Tom not apparate. He learned from Lanky how to go place to place.”

Albus smiled down at the little boy. “Tom, are you picking up tricks already? Whatever shall we do with you?”

“Master Tom will forget.” Lanky advised, her ears dropping. “Wizard babies learn all sorts from elves, but they never remember. It makes elves sad.”

Albus raised an eyebrow and made a mental note to investigate that notion further later. For now, he hugged his son tightly and let little Tom cling to his beard as the small boy sought comfort. His little eyes gazed around in question and he babbled exhaustedly, fighting his fatigue. 

“Are you looking for your mama?” Albus asked sadly. “I’m afraid she’s not home, yet. But she’ll come back soon. Until then, little wizard, you will have to make due with Lanky, the headmaster, and I. And Magnus. I’m sure he’ll be around.”

Magnus snorted. “Thank Merlin you made it out alive, Dumbledore. That crazy witch gave _me_ custody rights if you hadn’t. I am far too old for _infants_.”

“Nonsense.” Dippet smiled fondly at the baby. “Tom is such a well behaved baby.”

“Only because you have a house-elf doing all the work.” Magnus grumbled and turned to leave. “Albus, I suggest you hand that child back over to the elf and rest. I’ll come collect you in the morning and we’ll go see about your wife. I wager the healers will want a look at you as well, since you’ll be there. No one has seen a case of such advanced magical suppression in decades.”

Albus waved him off, his eyes glued to his son as Tom curled up on his chest, his tiny hands wound tightly in the wizard’s beard.

* * *

Albus reluctantly left Tom with Lanky in the Hogwarts nursery and allowed Magnus to side-along apparate him to Mungos. He was still weak, but he was walking unaided now and he’d managed to preform several spells that morning without problem. Still, splinching was not something he cared to risk.

Hermione was in a private room in the Spell Damage Ward. She looked so very pale, laying there on her stomach so the healers could care for the curse burns that littered her back. Magnus and the healer promptly got into an argument over some aspect of her treatment, but Albus only vaguely heard them. His entire focus was on her and he pulled a chair up to her bedside and took her hand. He wasn’t sure how much time past as he sat there. Magnus left, healers and mediwitches came and went. There were no windows to mark the passing of the sun and Albus’ sole focus was on the steady rise and fall of his wife’s breath.

He cursed his future self. He blamed that Albus Dumbledore for allowing the world to become so horrible it would turn this proud _good_ woman into what she was. Albus had known that Hermione had done terrible things to survive. She’d killed – he knew that. And while he didn’t condemn her for the actions that had lead to his rescue, he was haunted by the calm way she’d handled it all. His memories of the escape were fragmented, but what he did remember alarmed him. 

The solder in her had always been hovering just under the surface, but he’d never before realized exactly what that meant. He’d meet aurors and Unspeakables that had the same jittery way of looking at the world; men and women that never sat with their back to a door, who greeted each new person with a frank appraisal and a guarded expression. Hermione was better at hiding it, but he suspected she was constantly on alert as well, ready at any moment to unleash a deadly response to any preserved threat. Now he knew what that response could look like and it chilled him. Filius had whispered to him of how she’d killed the wizards and the witch that had blocked their path to his cell, and how she’d methodically disposed of the bodies. She’d acted without hesitation, without remorse. She’d been ready to lay down her life, Filius’ life, and all the muggle children being held, just to get him out alive. Whatever she knew of his future, whatever role she saw for him in the coming days, could it really be worth such a price? What did that say about him, that this woman who had given herself over to magic itself in the cause of Light, would consider his life worth preserving even at the cost of so many? 

Albus wasn’t sure he wanted whatever that future was. War had changed this dear girl into a hardened warrior. What would it do to him? He already had more regrets, more guilt, than one man should carry. What possible action could he be destined for that could mean so much? 

Gellert. His mind whispered. It was what they were all saying behind his back. Gellert only feared one wizard. Unspeakables, the Ministry, even Filius, Magnus, and Hermione, were all just biding their time until Albus killed his former best friend. Hermione said he wasn’t ready yet – and what little he saw of their duel made him believe she was correct. But beyond his skill, beyond his knowledge of offensive and defensive magics, was his _will_. And Albus wasn’t sure if he could bring himself to do it. He looked at Gellert Grindelwald and he did not see a dark lord. He looked at Gellert and he saw a young boy, bright with promise but hidden in shadow and his _heart ached_.

He barely registered another chair being pulled up to the bed until Filius’ hand gently landed on his arm. “Albus, you’ve been here for nearly 10 hours. Please, you need to eat and rest.”

“Hermione shouldn’t be alone.” He answered softly, struggling to push his thoughts of the future to the back of his mind. “She’s been alone for so long, Filius. I can’t leave her now.”

“I’m not saying you need to leave, but you need to eat.” Filius levitated a tray to the bedside table. “We can even transfigure that chair so you can rest. I’ll stay and if she starts to regain consciousness I will wake you.”

Albus blinked slowly before he nodded and took a few bites of the offered food. It tasted bland, in the way only hospital food can, but he managed to ingest enough to satisfy the small wizard. A pair of healers stopped in and checked Hermione’s status and ran a few short tests on him. He knew they wanted to run more, to see what exposure to the void room had done to him physically, but they sensed he was not in a patient mood.

Filius was good as his word and helped to transfigure the chair into a small cot and Albus laid down obediently. He didn’t fall sleep, but he rested. Filius stayed firmly by Hermione’s side and whenever Albus opened his eyes his friend would smile at him fondly before turning back to his book. Eventually, the quiet sound of the small wizard turning pages, and the general background noises of the hospital lolled him into a light slumber. 

Magnus’ return brought him back to wakefulness. The elderly arithmancer gave a quick update on the Order’s search for Belby and Grindelwald. As far as they could tell, the former professor and the dark wizard were long gone. Apparently the Ministry was more interested in where the other perpetrators had gone then tracking the foreign wizard and the rogue professor, but since they could find no evidence of them, they had yet to hit on the truth. Filius’ eyes hardened as Magnus speculated on what exactly might have happened to account for their total disappearance but neither wizard told him the truth. Hermione’s cold blooded eradication of her enemies wasn’t something they needed to enlighten him, the Ministry, or the Order on. Magnus seemed to realize there was more to the story but he didn’t press them for details. He’d lived long enough to recognize when it was best to not question something too closely.

Healers came and went again and Filius retrieved meals for them both. Albus was unaccountably glad for the company, even if they did not talk. Filius had always been a good friend, and knowing that there was someone else that cared enough, and knew the truth, about his wife to sit vigil meant the world to him. Filius had followed Hermione into the mouth of hell, risking his own life for both of theirs, and right now he would rather have the half-goblin with him than anyone else he knew.

Albus’ magic felt recovered after his rest and he experimented with a few more complicated spells that he hadn’t been up for prior to leaving Hogwarts. He could once again feel the ebb and flow of his magic and he rejoiced in the return of that most essential part of himself. Filius smiled softly as he watched and Albus paused at his sigh after a particularly energetic set of advanced charms.

“Do you remember that first summer after I started, when we renewed the wards on the school?” Filius asked, his eyes sparkling in the lingering light of the spellwork.

Albus lowered his wand and retook his seat. “Yes. It was the twenty-five year cycle and we had to do the more complicated ritual. It was the first time I’d preformed that version and as Deputy I had to channel most of the staff’s input and feed it to Armando so he could direct it to the warding stone.”

“It was beautiful.” Filius shook his head, smiling fondly. “I remember thinking that I’d never seen a wizard more enthralled by magic than you. The expression on your face as you did your part of the enchantment was so joyous, so _pure_. I had difficulty preforming my portion I was so distracted. I am glad you are back to normal.”

Albus let his gaze drift as he answered. “There’s something about just letting go with a difficult spell, allowing it to flow as it will, to twist and wrap about you, that is so…so _essential_. I have never been more frightened, Filius, than I was in that room. I couldn’t _breath_ , I couldn’t _think_. And then when you got me out, and I could sense magic again, it was sluggish and awkward. I’ve never felt my magic act like that. I…Merlin, I was so TERRIFIED that it would be like that forever.”

Filius reached out and gently took his hand. “I could see just now that it has returned, dear friend. You looked positively rapturous as you cast.” Filius smiled apologetically. “I wouldn’t have interrupted you, but I hazard that the healers will not be so appreciative of your efforts if you kept going. High Magic is not something they encourage in the Spell Damage Ward after all.”

“I wasn’t _doing_ anything, not really.” Albus blushed. “I was just….”

“Charming all the linen in the building to repel stains and to change color every hour.” Hermione’s weak voice interrupted them.

They both jumped from their chairs to her side and Albus reached out to steady her as she slowly crawled up to her knees and gripped the wall. She held fast to his arm as she wavered. “My wand. Albus, where’s my wand?” She asked, her voice high and alarmed.

“Here.” Filius pulled her everyday wand out of his robes. “Magnus gave it to me to keep for you. The one you used to duel with Grindelwald was lost.”

Hermione took the wand and clutched it to her, shutting her eyes. “It’s where it needs to be.” She murmured. “There can be only one, and _he_ had to have it, so that Albus could win it.”

“The Elder Wand.” Albus breathed. “Gellert has it now.” 

Hermione nodded and slowly sank down to sit on the bed, careful to keep her still healing back away from the pillows. “Yes.” She opened her eyes and grimaced. “Magnus and I had wondered what it would mean, my having all the Hallows when I knew that one at least needed to be with another. I don’t think the cloak or the stone matter so much, but the wand needed to be where it is – for now.”

Filius looked confused but kept his peace, knowing that there were things about the future it was best not to know. Instead he hopped down from his chair and picked his book up. “I am very happy to see you awake, Hermione.” He smiled. “I’ll let you two have some privacy and I’ll alert the healers that you are awake.”

“I’m sure they know.” Hermione objected, reaching out for his arm to keep him from turning away. “They’ve got more charms on this bed than I can count.” She turned a questioning look to Albus who nodded. “And we don’t want you to leave. There are things you should know, Filius, now that you’ve come this far with us.”

* * *

Hermione Dumbledore was released from St. Mungos hours before the NEWTS were to start. Headmaster Dippet tried to dissuade her from sitting them, but Albus and Filius knew better and personally walked her to the examination room. Magnus joined them later that day and they watched from the sidelines as she preformed the practical portion of her Defense test. The examiners were clearly impressed but all three observers knew that she was holding back.

The next few days were a whirl of NEWTS examinations and the typical end of year grading and Albus saw little of his wife, much to his displeasure. What time she spent in their rooms was either with Tom or sleeping and it wasn’t until the Hogwarts Express pulled out that he was able to finally relax with her. Nicholas was expecting them to spend the summer at his estate so Hermione could work on her apprenticeship and had extended an invitation to Magnus and Filius to join them. 

Lestrange had refused, of course, and was returning to his ancestral manor. He claimed there was little else he could teach Hermione, and since she was taking over as Arithmancy professor in the fall he had nothing more to do. He would be available, of course, if she needed assistance with _other matters_ \- by which Albus assumed he meant Tom and whatever duties _gwawr angau_ preformed that he was unaware of. 

Filius had accepted the invitation with enthusiasm, eager to actually meet the infamous Nicholas Flamel and his wife. Albus suspected that Hermione had some sort of ulterior motive in inviting the little wizard, and if his suspicions were correct – Albus blushed at the thought – he wouldn’t exactly object. They had been spending more and more time with the half-goblin and Albus enjoyed his company greatly. It…it would be nice to have another he did not have secrets from.

The Ministry was still investigating the circumstances that had lead to Albus’ abduction and rescue. They had finally deduced the fate of the missing wizards and witch but had concluded erroneously that it was the work of Grindelwald and Belby covering their tracks. By all accounts the two were now back in Eastern Europe and Gellert’s efforts to further his reach were now gaining ground at a much faster pace. Hermione wouldn’t answer any questions about it, but Albus suspected it was due to his possession of the Elder Wand. With the exception of Belby’s presence, however, Hermione did assure them all that things were happening as they ‘should’. Based on what she’d told them of Belby from her time, Albus had a strong suspicion she’d always worked for Gellert, but had never been caught. In fact, it was likely that she’d been the one to cause the magical backlash that had devastated Hermione’s time in the last days of Voldemort’s rise to power.   
There were no more disruptions to the magical currents, thank Merlin, so either Belby had given up her quest to perfect the ritual, or more likely Gellert had realized the danger in it and had ordered her to stop. Whatever the reason, Albus was just glad that they had not experienced the same disastrous calamity that still caused his wife to shudder in remembered horror.

Hermione was finishing packing, Tom perched on her hip, when Albus found them. She had her trunk open and was levitating the last of her apprenticeship notes into it while Tom played with her hair – his magic swirling and causing the erratic strands to dance around his outstretched fingers. 

“Are you sure it’s a good idea to let him do that?” Albus asked.

Hermione chuckled and bounced the boy once causing him to giggle. “Oh, it’s not like he can tangle it any more than nature itself would do. And it keeps him occupied.” Hermione shook her head fondly. “I can’t imagine how he would have survived in that orphanage. He’s the most magical baby I’ve ever seen!”

Albus held his arms out and Tom reached for him. He snuggled the boy into the crook of his arm and gazed down tenderly. “Magnus said his mother’s magic was corrupting the place. I imagine,” Albus looked up, his eyes loosing their happy twinkle. “I imagine that as sensitive as he is, feeling that would have dampened his abilities. Being here, at Hogwarts, with all the positive energies and openly preformed magic must be giving him the stimulation he needs to cultivate that part of himself. I would think that growing up with muggles, never seeing magic, it would have stunted him. Rather like a child who never heard his parents speak would not learn language.”

Hermione closed the trunk and snapped the lock into place. “When I was growing up, I knew that I was different. But being muggleborn I didn’t know why or how certain things happened. I showed first sign very young, but my parents had no idea what as going on and neither did I. We hid it, scared of it, and for a long time I thought I was mad. I avoided that part of myself, certain it was dangerous and _wrong_. When the Hogwarts letter came it was such a _relief_.”

Albus tickled Tom and smiled at his happy squeals. “That was one of the reasons I proposed that primary school idea. It as mainly for muggleborns and muggle raised half-bloods. I think it’s a good idea to expose them to magic as young as possible. The school roster detects magic at the first sign so we know years in advance who will be getting a letter. There’s no good reason to wait until 11 if we handle the matter correctly. We can put the children under Fidelius so that they and their parents can’t reveal the truth to anyone, and so no wizard can find and harm them. With modern floo and portkeys they need not be removed from their families.”

Hermione sighed. “It is a travesty that Ministry doesn’t agree. But we can keep arguing for it and in the mean time I think Filius’ idea to contact the parents ourselves using the registry is a good one. Even if we can’t start educating them, at least we can let them know what is happening to their children and how to contact us if they need help. Perhaps…” Hermione’s eyes misted. “Perhaps we can keep what happened to Harry and Severus from repeating.”

Albus reached out for her. “I promise you, my dear, even if we can’t legally take Severus from his father’s home, when the time comes we will protect that boy _with any means necessary._

Hermione turned to him, eyes shining. “I love you, Albus Dumbledore.”

“And I you, my wonderful and confounding witch.”

Little Tom giggled and clapped as his parents kissed over his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just the epilogue remains. Thank you everyone for sticking with this!


	28. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it, the end. I want to thank everyone that's reviewed and I want to especially dedicate this last chapter to the two kind souls who have kept me motivated through this entire thing. Thank you frogfear and WrathOfSlytherin for all your reviews and conversation. Your faithful response to nearly every chapter meant a lot. You both are wonderful and it's people like you that keep me writing. 
> 
>  
> 
> If time ever permits I will eventually go back through here and make grammar and spelling corrections - someday. So if anybody reading this message wants to point out an error, feel free. I correct them as we find them (yes, I am putting ownership of this on you, reader, as well as me). 
> 
> Again, thank you everyone!

Severus knew there was something odd about his father- had known his entire life. The man was intensely unpleasant, and would yell at him and his mother for what seemed like hours. Sometimes he would raise his hand, as if to strike one of them, but always at the last second he would jerk away, cursing, and leave them alone. His mother would always close her eyes afterword, and mutter a whispered ‘thank you, headmaster’. He had no idea what she meant by it, and she would never answer him if he asked. 

Severus spent the majority of his time hiding with his mother’s books, memorizing them as if they contained all the secrets of the universe. Which, for him, they did. They were _magic_ books, and full of wondrous and exciting things. He knew his mother was a witch, and that he was a wizard, and that his father had ‘not a drop of magic’ as his mother had once confessed. He’d known what he was since his earliest memory and while his mother never yelled at him for the little things he’d make happen, his father would turn frightening shades of red whenever he caught him. They’d had to hide the precious books in a secret cupboard that his mother had asked someone to charm so that no ‘muggle’ could find it. Severus suspected that this ‘friend’ may be the mysterious headmaster that his mother would thank in her tearful hushed whispers but he hadn’t been home when it had happened so he was never quite sure. 

His mother’s wand had been broken before he was born and Severus had never seen _real_ magic, like in the books. The most his mother could manage without it were simple potions that they brewed in secret, the ingredients harvested from the wilds around the town and a very small few purchased on the handful of clandestine trips into Diagon Alley they managed in secret. The last trip had been two years ago, when he was seven, and Severus could still recall the way the air crackled with energies he could almost _see_.

He hadn’t meant to upset his father so, not today. He was just…so excited! He’d found another witch, another like him and she’d been so _pretty_ and kind. She’d _talked_ to him and laughed with him, _not at him_. She hadn’t known what she was yet, not really. A witch had visited her family when she was little and told them she was a witch, but her parents were muggles and she’d never been to Diagon, never seen a wizarding book or talking portrait. She had no idea what it _meant_ to be magical. Severus was the first person she’d ever met that was like her and they’d spent the most magical afternoon. She’d had no idea what it meant to be a witch and Severus had told her all about his mother’s magic books and the things they’d learn when they went to Hogwarts.

He was telling his mother all about Lily, asking if they could take Lily with them the next time they went to London, when his father had burst in. He raged at them for keeping secrets, for daring to go into the wizarding world – accused them of horrible things and his mother of the most vile and disgusting acts. Severus hadn’t meant to do magic – he really hadn’t. But his father was threating his mother, leaning over her and screaming, spit flying from his lips, his face twisted and snarled. His mother was sobbing, backed into a corner and something inside _snapped_. His mother screamed when his father flew across the room and through the glass door. She’d run to him, a towel in hand to stop the bleeding, and he’d hit her.

Severus could still hear the sound of that slap ringing in his ears.

It all happened so fast. His father was on his feet, his fists and feet pummeling the small form of his mother as she curled in on her self, sobbing on the floor. The next moment, his father was clutching his chest, his face twisted in pain and Severus watched with wide eyes as he fell to the ground.

Severus’ mother crawled to him, her hands bleeding as she cut them on the shards of glass that littered the floor. She clutched him to her, burying her face in his shoulder. There was a pop and Severus looked up in shock as a grey haired woman in scarlet robes, her hair a wild mass of untamed madness, materialized out of thin air next to his father’s still form.

The witch glared down at the man, a sneer on her face. “He finally did it then. I warned him. Albus and I warned him.” She sighed and kicked his father and it was then that Severus realized his father was dead. His unseeing eyes were open and glazed and his chest was still. The witch turned to them and her face softened. Her hazel eyes filled with tears and she moved towards them slowly. Severus clutched his mother tighter and moved to put himself between the hysterical woman and this intruder. The strange witch waved her wand and the glass disappeared before she knelt down. 

“I don’t mean you any harm, Severus.” She said softly. “My name is Hermione Dumbledore and I’m a professor at Hogwarts. Have you heard of Hogwarts?”

Severus nodded. Of course he heard about Hogwarts. His mother was a witch and he was nine. In two years he would be going there and he’d never looked forward to something so much in his young life.

Prof. Dumbledore inched closer. “Severus, I know you have no reason to trust me, but I swear on my magic that I don’t mean you or your mother harm.” The air snapped as she said it and Severus’ dark eyes widened.

“You just made a magical oath.” He breathed.

“Yes.” Prof. Dumbledore nodded gravely. “I did. Do you know what that means?”

“You can’t, you can’t hurt us or you loose your magic.” Severus relaxed slightly but his mother only tightened her grip, her frantic eyes switching between his father’s body and him. “We aren’t in trouble are we?” He asked hesitantly. “I didn’t mean to hurt father, professor, I swear.”

“Of course you didn’t. And call me Hermione. I’m not your professor yet, young man.” She pulled a vial out of her robes and held it out. “This is a calming drought with a bit of a sleep potion in it. Can you get your mother to take it? I don’t think she’s in any condition at the moment to listen to me and we have work to do before we call the muggle authorities.”

Severus nodded and took the vial. His mother didn’t fight him as he tipped it into her mouth and he sighed with relief as she slumped against him, unconscious. 

Hermione stood and whispered a spell and his mother rose up into the air. Hermione levitated her into the bedroom and spelled her under the covers. “She’ll be fine, Severus.” Hermione promised softly. “Now, can you tell me what happened?”

Severus did. He told her all about Lily and how he’d rushed home to ask his mother if they could show her Diagon Ally and how his father had come in unexpectedly. He confessed to his accidental magic, and his father hitting his mother. Hermione’s eyes hardened as he talked and Severus shrank in on himself, expecting her to yell. His eyes widened in surprise when he found himself enveloped in a tight hug.

“Oh, Severus.” She cried, clutching him tightly. “You poor boy!” He felt her tears on his shoulder. She finally pulled away and she gave him a watery smile, tucking a strand of his greasy hair back behind his ear. “I know you don’t know me, dear one, but I’ve been watching over you your whole life. I’m sorry I couldn’t take you way from here, but the Ministry – the magical government – wouldn’t let me. Albus- my husband- and I, we’ve done what we could for your mother but she wouldn’t leave him and we couldn’t force her.”

“Is he the headmaster?” Severus asked, his voice far more timid than he liked.

“Yes.” Hermione smiled at him, her hands still holding onto his arms as if she feared to let go. “Yes he is.” Her smile faded. “When your mother married, he put a spell on your father that would hurt him if he ever tried to hit her. When you were born, we extended it to you.”

“You killed him?” Severus asked, torn between gratefulness and fear.

Hermione grimaced. “That wasn’t our intention, exactly, but we may have…over done the spell a tiny bit and from the looks of it his heart couldn’t take the strain.”

“Oh.” Severus felt rather numb. “That’s alright then.” He replied, forcing himself to pay attention and take a step back from her. “What do we do now?”

Hermione waved her wand and her robes turned into a plain muggle dress. “I am going to go call the muggle police and report that your father has had an accident. I’ll stay with you when they come.” She bit her lip and brushed a wayward strand of her bushy grey hair back from her face. “It will help if you tell them I’m a…friend? Of the family?”

Severus nodded his agreement. “You need to put the glass back.” He advised as they moved back into the kitchen. “Otherwise they will wonder where it went.”

Hermione blinked at him in surprise. “That’s… a very good catch, Severus. You’re very quick on your feet, considering what’s happened.”

Severus couldn’t help turning a contemptuous glare towards his father’s body. “I never liked him much.”

Hermione let out a shocked bark of laugher. “No, I don’t suppose you do. I don’t know why I’m surprised by that.” She dabbed at her eyes. “You must think I’m terrible, laughing like this over your father’s dead body.”

Severus may only be nine, but felt far older. And he was nothing if not practical. His father had only ever caused him grief and this witch, this witch that seemed to _care_ about him and his mother, she could be his ticket _out_. “If he’s dead, can mother and I go back with you? To the wizarding world?” He looked around his dismal kitchen and though of the small cupboard with the books he’d long ago memorized. “Mother doesn’t work and without _him_ ,” he sneered at the body, “we won’t have money to stay here.”

Hermione crouched down again and took his hands in hers. “If she agrees, then yes, Severus, I will take you both back with me. I think we’ve room enough at Hogwarts for you, even if you aren’t old enough for classes yet. They once showed me kindness when I had nowhere else to go, and I’d be remiss if I did not return the favor to you and your mother. Even if she says no, I promise you, I won’t let you suffer here. I vowed once that I’d always take care of you, and I meant it.”

Severus bit his lip, his eyes filling with tears despite his attempts to keep them at bay. “Can…can you take us- Lily and I, I mean- to London? I promised her…”

The elderly witches eyes twinkled through her tears. “Of course I can. I’ll make sure you and Lily see as much of each other as I can. You deserve that, after everything you’ve done for me.”

Severus looked at her in confusion. “Done for you? What did I do?”

“Everything.” She answered, her voice shaky as she pulled him into another tight hug. “Oh, Severus, you have no idea.”

* * *

His mother wouldn’t leave their house and Severus resented her for it despite Hermione’s attempts to explain her reasons. Severus wanted to go to Hogwarts! He wanted to stay with the nice witch with the wild grey hair and the eyes that seemed to _know_ him. Hermione acted like other mothers, like Lily’s mother, and she _hugged_ him, listened to him like he was an adult, and she claimed to _care about him_ \- even saying she loved him on occasion. But even if they didn’t leave, his father’s death changed everything.

Hermione brought him new books and even though his mother rarely got of bed anymore, spending all her time sleeping and crying and clutching his retched father’s coat, Hermione made sure he wasn’t trapped alone in the bleak and depressing house. She sent a little elderly elf named Lanky to cook and clean for them and Lanky told him all kinds of stories about Hogwarts and the Dumbledore family. Severus had never seen a house-elf before, and at first he wasn’t sure he could trust the tiny creature. But Lanky was gentle with his mother and didn’t yell at her or get upset when she sat for hours and stared at nothing – not like his father used to, and Severus had to admit it was nice having someone else cook for him. He’d been used to doing most of the chores when his mother was in one of her ‘moods’ and now that she seemed to be stuck in one, the help was welcome. He was secretly grateful, as well, that his mother would have someone to take care of her when he went away to school.

Hermione made good on her promise and took him and Lily to Diagon Alley and bought them ice-cream at the funny little parlor. She took them to the bookstore and loaded both their arms with piles of books until Lily giggled and exclaimed that they needed a pack mule. Hermione bought him proper clothes and new shoes that fit and when he confessed that the boys at school still picked on him, she took him out of the school and paid to send him to the preparatory school that Lily was enrolled in. Lily was popular there, with her vibrant personality and her pretty red hair and Severus had expected her to ignore him. But she made sure he never sat alone at lunch, introduced him to all her friends, and if anyone picked on him she was fierce in her reaction. It embarrassed him, to have a _girl_ defending him, but secretly he was overjoyed that he finally had a _friend_ , his first ever. He was Lily’s silent shadow and soon everyone accepted his presence. He flourished in the new school, the material finally a challenge for him after years of being bored and hating his classes. Hermione baked him a cake when his marks came in and she and the Evans had a party for the two of them in the park where they’d first met, to celebrate, when their Hogwarts letters finally came.

It was Hermione who took them to Diagon Alley for their school things, Mr. and Mrs. Evans and Lily’s harpy of a sister Petunia following behind in awe. She bought Severus his first pet, a beautiful sooty owl that he named Gertrude. He didn’t have anyone to write letters to except his mother and Lanky, but he wanted to make sure she knew he hadn’t forgotten her while he was at school and he knew Lanky would be a good elf and read them to his mother even if she didn’t bother to do so herself. Lily wanted an ugly mangy rat that the pet-store owner said was named Sebastian. Hermione had raised an eyebrow at the choice, but paid the man anyway much to Mrs. Evans’ distress. 

Rather than taking them home, Hermione offered a rare chance for the muggles to see Hogwarts and meet the other professors. Her eyes twinkled as she whispered to them that they’d be the _only_ first years that had such a chance, and that they would quite popular with their year mates on the train with everyone pumping them for information. Severus raised an eyebrow at that, his brain already working out how to best use that to his and Lily’s advantage. 

Hermione took them via portkey to the gates and didn’t seem to mind when Lily got motion sick when they landed. She just waved her wand and cleaned it up, a smile on her face. She led the way up to the doors and embraced the wizard that waited for them there, giving him a quick kiss. Her husband Albus was an odd fellow and Severus wasn’t sure what he thought of the wizard. The man’s beard nearly reached the floor and he his robes were periwinkle blue with strawberry pinstripes. He tried to give everyone candy instead of a handshake and he seemed to find Petunia fascinating. He kept asking her all kinds of questions about her school, and how it was different from Hogwarts, and it took some time before Severus realized that he was doing it to try and make Petunia feel important even though she wasn’t a witch. It was sneaky, and Severus wouldn’t have expected it from a man with _bows in his beard_.

The Dumbledores had a grown son named Tom that was teaching Arithmancy and was the Head of Slytherin. Tom seemed to share his father’s happy disposition and while the adults talked all about boring things, Tom took the children to see the house-elves in the kitchen and fed them cake and pumpkin juice. Lily didn’t like the pumpkin juice – she said it was weird – but they both thought the cake was magnificent. Petunia was quite taken with Tom and Severus and Lily laughed at her attempts to flirt whenever her back was turned. Tom seemed to find the attention amusing as well and would wink at them whenever he caught them at it. 

Tom told them all about growing up at the school, and what it was like to be a student at Hogwarts. He regaled them with funnies stories about his own time as a student and they all laughed as he blushingly told them about how he only learned he could talk to snakes when he accidently broke into parseltounge during his first potion class when Prof. Slughorn had shown them a potion book with a snake on the cover. Severus wanted to know all about potions, since that was the only magic he’d had any practice at, and Tom had laughed and confessed he was _horrible_ at it himself, but that Hermione and Albus were both potion masters and that if he asked nicely he was sure they’d give him extra lessons. Lily was more interested in the new transfiguration professor and head of Gryffindor who Tom said could _turn into a cat_. Lily’s eyes were large as Tom explained what an animagus was and she vowed then and there she’d learn to do it herself. Petunia looked sad for a fleeting moment before turning her nose up at the notion.

Tom had apprenticed under the last of the great medieval arthamancers, Magnus Lestrange, and knew all sorts of fascinating things about all kinds of topics. He chuckled as he explained that his mother had taught arithmancy up until he’d finished his Mastery and had how his father had _cried_ when the last headmaster, Armando Dippet, had offered the job to the young wizard an hour before he retired. Hermione had then moved to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts and Albus had taken over the school. With three “Professor Dumbledores” in residence, it made things very confusing, but the staff was all like family, he said, and they all made it work. Petunia scoffed, and asked point blank if the entire wizarding world worked on nepotism and Tom only frowned slightly as he explained, in a firm voice, that there were very few arithmancy Masters in the world and that the Guild had only recognized three in the last fifty years – his mother and himself being two. Hogwarts was quite honored to have them both in residence and along with Prof. Flitwick they made the most renowned arithmancy triad in the known wizarding world. It was _not_ nepotism. Petunia shut up after that.

Lily rather tactlessly asked why the young professor didn’t look a thing like his parents and Tom explained that he was adopted. His parents had done a special kind of spell when he was one and half that made him legally a Dumbledore but let him still look like his birth father and mother. When they returned to the group, Tom held him back and explained in a quiet voice that it didn’t matter where you came from. It was your choices that defined you and that Severus didn’t have to try so hard not to look like his hated father. Tom hugged him, just like his mother had that first day, and whispered in his ear that he looked forward to having him in his house. His eyes twinkled when he let go, and Severus had never been more honored. This wonderful brilliant man thought he belonged in _his_ house, wanted him in Slytherin. He thought Severus was _worthy_ of it, even though his father wasn’t magical – wasn’t even a decent human being. Severus’ knew about purebloods and muggles and all the politics of it – he knew that Slytherin wasn’t exactly the most open minded of the four houses – but it was the house his mother had been in, the house most all her family had been in, and he’d secretly hoped he’d be sorted there. Tom Dumbledore’s words gave him hope that he would.

Severus had Lily cut his hair that afternoon when Hermione brought them back home. Tom was right. He needn’t try so hard to be different from his father. He _was_ different. He was _happy_ and he had people who cared about him, that said they _loved him_ (even if was only Lily and Hermione). 

He wasn’t surprised at all when the hat yelled “Slytherin” and even though Lily was in Gryffindor he just knew they’d be best friends forever. After all, Hermione had promised they would, and Hermione knew _everything_. 

When his mother died during his third year, he was devastated. She hadn’t been the best of mothers, he recognized that – but she’d been _his mother_ and when she was in her right mind she’d always cared for him the best she could. She’d loved him, in her way, and Severus wished he’d been smart enough to find a way to help her out of her depression. Hermione held him as he cried, Lily standing next to them wringing her hands with worry, and the headmaster had been kind enough to make all the arrangements. Lanky had packed up their little house and returned to the school, her ears drooping to brush the ground as she walked. Severus had scooped her up into his arms and buried his face in her tiny neck. 

The Ministry came and said he had to have a guardian, and he was deeply honored when Tom Dumbledore, his head of house, volunteered. A year later, when Tom adopted him just like he had once been, Severus left even the name Snape behind. His father was dead, and Severus chose to let go of that last symbol of his father’s miserable claim to his only son. Headmaster Dumbledore made a special room up for him in the dungeons and declared that Hogwarts would always be his home. The old man’s eyes had twinkled as he said it, calling him his _grandson_ and Hermione had tears running down her face that she refused to explain. Even Prof. Flitwick had cried and Severus had put up with the rather embarrassing hug Prof. Sprout had given him. They all said he was theirs now, that Hogwarts was his _true_ home. 

And so it was.


End file.
